


Casus Belli

by Green_essential



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25886557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_essential/pseuds/Green_essential
Summary: It means, 'cause of war'. She didn't mean to be one. All she did was run into him in an alleyway that night, and it all just kinda went sideways from there.
Relationships: Bruce Wayne/Original Female Character(s), Father-Daughter - Relationship
Comments: 9
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello hello! If you are visiting this story from any of my others, welcome! If you are a new reader, welcome! I came up with this idea a couple of weeks ago, and just really wanted to get it on paper, (or the site, I guess). It's cross-posted on ff.net, and I'm actually kind of proud of my plot lol. There's going to be a few twists in the story, so make sure you're paying close attention to seemingly insignificant details ;)  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!  
> CHAPTER WARNING: Physical and attempted sexual abuse of a child. Bold letters and ***** will announce when the scene starts and ends if you want to skip it

Kristina did not know where she came from.

Of course, it wasn’t for lack of trying. She’d been at the group home since she was two years old, and ever since she was old enough to know that she _should_ have parents, she’d been attempting to break into Ms. Oscar’s office. She was extremely proud to say that at ages eight, nine, and eleven, she’d nearly succeeded. When she was nine, she actually made it all the way to the computer and was in the middle of figuring out the password once she’d been caught. Unfortunately, when she tried again at eleven, she’d tripped on the loose floorboard and accidentally knocked that ugly red flower vase off it’s stand, alerting the group home’s administrator.

She’d been stuck in ‘time out’ for over six hours after that, and her outside privileges had been revoked for a week.

So, when she got caught a fourth time a few months after her twelfth birthday, Ms. Oscar decided it was time for something a little more ‘impactful’.

“We have less than an hour to get the candy bars on the shelves, Kristina!”

The chocolate-haired girl didn’t bother to suppress her eye roll at the harsh, grating sound of James Oscar’s voice. The dark-haired old man was Ms. Oscar’s older brother, and was every bit as nasty as his sister, if not more. The Oscar’s not only worked as the main administrators for the group home, but they happened to own a little convenience store a few streets over. After it became obvious to the woman that putting the unruly child in ‘time out’, (which consisted of locking her in her room with none of her books, games, or crossword puzzles) for the whole day and not allowing her outside for days on end wasn’t working, she seemed to come to the conclusion that manual labor would put a dent in Kristina’s behavior.

So, that was how she found herself helping restock the store for that week. It wasn’t the worst job, (she’d even managed to sneak a few tootsie pops and a bag of potato chips into her backpack) at least, it would be much better if James wasn’t yelling at her every time she _breathed_ wrong.

“That’s not where the soda’s go, Kristina!”

“I said _alphabetical,_ in what world does c go before b?”

“You think _that’s_ organized? Hell, my sister raised you better than that!”

Kris was forced to bite her tongue as a familiar tendril of fury slowly curled up in her throat, and she almost screamed out how his sister hadn’t raised her _at all_ , but didn’t. She was already in deep shit, and she missed playing volleyball with John. She didn’t want to have her outside privileges taken away again.

As the day dwindled down into the last hour the store would be open, the door chimed, and Kris poked her head up from behind a shelf of juice cups, smiling in delight once she saw who had come.

Jonathan Crane was a quiet, albeit extremely creepy looking man with an intense blue gaze and glasses. Kris had met him when she was nine years old. Her school took a field trip to the courthouse, and once again, Kristina found herself somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be.

_Kris had to jog to catch up with her fourth-grade class, her long brown ponytail swinging against her back. Bright, hazel eyes looked around in wonder, marveling at the height of the marble columns and the shiny floors, the large oak doors holding multiple ‘court rooms’ her teacher had told them about._

_As Mrs. Ramirez continued to tell the children about the portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne, she found herself bored. It wasn’t that she didn’t like hearing about the Wayne’s, she actually really liked it. There was something about the story of a young boy suddenly abandoned that resonated with her young brain, and for some reason, gave her hope. Bruce Wayne didn’t have parents, but he’d managed to leave Gotham, and maybe he had a good life somewhere. That meant she could do it once she was big, too._

_But the young girl was high energy, and she was beyond restless. John was a grade above her, meaning he wasn’t there, and she didn’t like any of the other kids in her class; they all thought she was ‘weird’, and ‘aggressive’. Which was ridiculous; Austin Mayhorne had taken her book, she was just trying to get it back. She hadn’t_ meant _for him to fall and smack his head on the slide, despite what he told the playground duty._

_She started wandering away, following the tiled pattern on the floors. She wasn’t sure how, but eventually, she found herself in front of a bunch of bookshelves, filled with books._

Books!

_She glanced behind her, still able to see and hear Mrs. Ramirez talking to the class further down the hall. Biting her lip, she turned back, around, eyes roving hungrily over the books. She had already read all the ones at the group home, and in the classroom, and library day wasn’t until Friday. She wasn’t going to_ steal _it, she was just going enjoy a few chapters and get back to the class before Mrs. Ramirez tried to send out an amber alert on her again._

_Her hazel eyes fell on green book with gold lettering, but it was a little too high to be able to see what the words on the spine said. Standing on her toes, she reached up, her tongue poking out between her lips in concentration as she stretched further. Almost…got it…_

_“And what do you think you’re doing?”_

_The voice startled her, and she went to reel backwards, but tripped on her sneakers and fell backwards onto her butt. The landing hurt, and she scowled as her eyes fell landed on a pair of shiny black shoes, traveling up two extremely long legs to a brown, slightly ratting jacket and finally to a long, pointed face and two startled blue eyes._

_When their gazes met, the man’s face went white, and he actually dropped his briefcase. Thin lips parted in shock, and he stuttered, looking as if he’d just seen a ghost._

_“What-no, it’s not- how are you- you can’t be-“ he stumbled over his words, voice weak with shock. Kris stood up, brushing her jeans off._

_“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, looking at her shoes, “I just wanted to read a book.”_

_Her voice seemed to snap him out of his weird mood, and he looked up at the shelf. “These books? How old are you?”_

_The doubt in his voice caused indignation to flare up in her chest. Kris may have been small, but she wasn’t stupid, or weak, and she hated it when people doubted her. “Nine. How old are you?” She sassed back, folding her arms across her chest and standing straighter, trying to appear taller. She almost flinched, not meaning for her tone to sound so rude, but surprisingly, an amused smile pulled its way across the mans face. He crouched down, adjusting his glasses as he stared at her curiously._

_“What’s your name?”_

_“I’m not supposed to tell strangers.” She shook her head firmly, remembering the ‘stranger danger’ talk they’d had at the beginning of the school year. The man chuckled mirthlessly._

_“Well, how about I tell you my name? That way, we’re not strangers anymore.”_

_The idea actually made a lot of sense, and Kris nodded her head, smiling. This man didn’t seem dangerous, he was so nice!_

_“My name is Jonathan, Jonathan Crane. What’s yours?”_

_“I’m Kristina.”_

_“Kristina what?”_

_“Kristina Smith.” At the given last name, she frowned, absentmindedly twisting her foot against the ground. “But that’s not my real last name; I don’t think it is. Nobody knows my last name.”_

_As she spoke, a smile began to grow across his face, and once she finished, he looked strangely happy. “Do you have a middle name?”_

_“Yeah. It’s Elizabeth.”_

_The man’s blue eyes lit up, and he sat there, smiling at her before he nodded at the bookshelf behind her. “So, you like to read?”_

_She nodded eagerly, ponytail bouncing with the movement. “Yeah, I love it! But I’ve already read the books at the group home, and in my classroom. I just wanted a new one.”_

_The man’s face turned thoughtful, and he looked at her. “What if I were to find some new books for you? And some puzzles, too. Would you like that?”_

_The idea of getting new books and maybe some new puzzles sounded better than anything she’d heard before, and it made her smile widely. The man returned her smile and stood, extending his hand._

_“Now, let’s get back to your teacher, so she knows you’re here.”_

_Jonathan led her down the hall back towards Mrs. Ramirez, who was walking around the group of children, face tight with worry. As her eyes fell upon the girl, the worried expression dropped into one of relief, then transitioned into suspicion once she saw she was holding hands with a stranger._

_“Kristina, I was so worried!” She scolded the young girl gently, and Kris bowed her head. She actually really liked Mrs. Ramirez, and she didn’t want to make the teacher angry with her. The woman met the gaze of Jonathan, who looked suddenly more serious and severely unimpressed than before. He almost looked kind of angry._

_“You should watch this child more closely.” He told the teacher firmly, lips twisting into the beginning of a sneer. The teacher’s eyes narrowed, and she held her hand out for Kris to take. The girl stepped forward, reaching for her, but Jonathan did not loosen his hold on her other hand. She turned back to him, confused, as Mrs. Ramirez began to look a bit more fearful._

_“Thank you for finding her, sir, but I can take her from here.” She stated, trying to sound firm, but her voice was wavering._

_After several more seconds, he let go of Kris’s hand, and Mrs. Ramirez grabbed onto the young girl, pulling her close. Now ignoring the woman, Jonathan looked back down at Kris._

_“It was a pleasure talking to you, Kristina.” He told her warmly, “I hope to see you again soon.”_

After that, Jonathan started coming around all the time. He didn’t adopt her, but he was always bringing her books, crossword puzzles, and sudoku. She didn’t like the sudoku as much, but it was still nice, and she didn’t want him to think she was being rude. He always seemed happy to see her, or, as happy as Jonathan could get. She’d learned the word to describe him in a book about a week after meeting him: _reserved_.

“Hi, Jonathan!” She greeted excitedly, rushing forward. The brown-haired man smiled calmly at her.

“Hello, Kristina. How are you doing?” He looked around the store. “Ms. Oscar said you would be here for the rest of this week.” A thick brown eyebrow raised. “Did you try to break into the computer again?”

She pushed her lips, tucking a stand of hair behind her ear and looking away. “Um…maybe.”

Jonathan sighed, but didn’t look too upset. “Alright, well, I brought you some new titles, and some harder puzzles to work on.” He looked at the rather dirty counter in distaste before gingerly setting his briefcase there, popping it open and pulling out a thick book. He held it out to the girl, and she took it, hazel eyes catching the title

_“The Divine Comedy?”_ She asked, looking confused. “I don’t think this is on our class reading list.”

Jonathan scoffed, pulling out several more books before snapping the briefcase shut. “That silly list is too far beneath your level, Kristina. We need to continue to ensure that you’re being challenged, and that means always introducing new books and puzzles.” As if to emphasize this, he held out the two books. A rather thick sudoku book, and one that said _Crosswords and Wordsearch, Level 21._

Kris took both of them, feeling giddy. The cement white walls of the group home and the strict rules of food time, outside, and showers often seemed similar to that time she read about prison. But with her books, puzzles, and getting to play with John, it seemed to help make her day just a little bit brighter. With Jonathan’s visits, of course.

“So, how much longer will you be doing _this?_ ” He asked her disdainfully, looking around the convenience store. She glanced at the clock and shrugged.

“I dunno, probably another hour. I have to help James finish packing up the store.”

Jonathan pursed his lips, the nodded. “Alright, well, I’ll be seeing you next week, Kristina. I would hope you’ve done at least half the puzzles by that time.”

She nodded, face serious, as he gave her one last warm, distracted smile, and then walked out of the store. The twelve-year-old wasn’t sure _why_ he ever looked at her like that, it almost seemed like he wasn’t looking at _her_ , his gaze seemed so far away.

The clock seemed to tick by slowly, slowly, slowly, practically crawling to nine o’clock. She glared at James every time he heaped a new chore on her, but did it without complaint, knowing that whenever she started to show her discomfort or distaste, James would go tattling back to his sister. Then she’d be stuck there even longer.

Finally, James told her to go to the back and grab her things. Almost giddy, she jogged back to the room, scooping everything into her bag. As she started to zip it up, though, she realized she’d left her sudoku book on the counter at the front.

Kris bit her lip, glancing back behind her. James was nowhere in sight, he may have already gone home. Maybe she could grab two sodas for John and herself to have with the snacks she’d gotten, too.

She peered around the corner, listening intently, but she couldn’t hear the old man’s heavy breathing or footsteps. She took a few hesitant steps forward and grabbed the sudoku book, making sure he wasn’t crouched behind the counter.

Nothing but dead silence.

Feeling a bit more confident, she scurried back to the fridges and pulled it open, reaching in to grab two ice cold cans of Coke, smiling brightly. But as the fridge door swung shut, her eyes landed on a belt buckle under a heavy, gross potbelly clad in a blue shirt, and her eyes flew up in horror to see James sneering at her.

“Well, what do we have here?” He snarled, reaching out to snatch the soda’s from her grasp. “A little thief, huh?”

Kris didn’t say anything, continuing to back away. She could feel fear rising up in her chest, making it hard to breathe. James was known for being harsh, what was her punishment going to be?

“And just what else do you have?” As if to punctuate his words, his hand shot forward and grabbed her backpack strap, yanking it harshly from her shoulder and causing her to stumble. She felt blood drain from her face when he dumped it out, the tootsie pops and chip bag falling to the ground along with her puzzles and schoolbooks. He looked up at her, glaring menacingly.

“Do you know how we punish thief’s, girl?” He asked darkly, taking a step forward. She didn’t even bother to respond, it’s not like she could have. Her voice had failed her, stuck in her throat. “I think I’m going to have to tell my sister…”

“No!” She quickly found herself again, and she shook her head frantically, “please, I won’t do it again, don’t tell her!”

He paused, his face shrouded by the shadows. A blinking green light outside seemed to blare threateningly over his face, showing a strange, wide smile.

**WARNING: PHYSICAL AND ATTEMPTED SEXUAL ABUSE OF A MINOR**

“You know what, here’s the deal: I won’t tell her.”

Kris felt relief hit her chest, and she took a deep breath. But then he took another step forward, and she felt her back hit the fridge door behind her. She’d been stepping backwards.

“But you still owe me for the things you stole, Kristina.”

The panic returned, just a smudge, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry, James, I only have five dollars, but you can have it-“

“Shhhh,” he stepped forward again, this time too close. Kris flinched when his finger brushed over her cheek, and it was shockingly cold and rough against her skin. “It’s ok, sweet girl, this will be nice, I promise.”

He cradled her face, but she flinched away. She started to try and slide away again, but he suddenly grabbed her arm, pulling her back. Panic flared full force in her chest, and she scratched as his hand. He squeezed her arm harder, and she whimpered at the pain.

“No, let go! Let-!” James’ hand landed a hard, backhanded blow across her cheek, and she felt a sharp pain in the left corner of her mouth. His hand then came over her lips, silencing her, and she felt tears burn her eyes as his nose buried in her hair.

“Be quiet!” He hissed, and then he started tugging at her jacket. Kris didn’t know what was happening, but whatever it was, it was scaring her, and she didn’t like it. In the midst of her fear, her mind flew back to when she and John had been fighting that group of boys a few months ago who had shoved her down during their soccer game together.

_Always hit a guy in between the legs, Krissy, it hurts them a lot._

The picture of her best friend’s face in her head seemed to give her strength, and without bothering to think about it more, she slammed her blue-sneakered foot up as hard as she could. It landed in between James’ thighs, and his grip loosened, air leaving his mouth with a loud _oof!_

**************

He let go of her, falling onto his knees and grasping his stomach, cursing loudly. Without bothering to wait for him to get up, she took off for the nearest exit, the back door. Frantically, she scrambled with the lock and threw the heavy gray door open, bolting into the alleyway behind it. Her footsteps pounded against the cement, splashing in several puddles as she ran. She wasn’t even sure where she was going, anywhere that was away from James.

The sound of the door slamming open made her trip over a few loose chunks of cement that had broken off from the sidewalk, and as she crashed to the ground, she heard large, uneven footsteps come pounding towards her. “Come back here, you little bitch!”

A small scream of fear flew past her lips and she stumbled to her feet, taking off again down the alleyway. She took random turns down the streets, wanting to scream, but unable to do so. It was like everything but her legs were paralyzed.

She hooked another corner-

-and crashed hard into a pair of legs.

She hit the ground hard, a startled, pained cry flying past her lips. She jumped to her feet, heart pounding, and looked up at the man she’d crashed into

Or, sort of a man. He was dressed all in black with weird buckles all over his chest and a black mask on; like the kind the cartoon burglars had. She stared up at him in shock, but an angry, familiar voice made her stomach fall and her heart leap into her throat.

“You better come out, you little slut, or I’ll make you sorry!” The close proximity of his voice made new tears well up in her eyes, and she jumped behind the man, grasping onto one of the buckle straps for security right as James came heaving around the corner.

He was breathing heavily, wheezing in some places, and sweating grotesquely. Her throat burned as he walked closer, glaring at the man she hid behind.

“Hey, buddy; tell you what, I won’ tell the cops I saw you, and you give me back the girl, eh?” He chuckled as he walked closer, “Though, I gotta say, you should really pick a better outfit, my friend.”

The man she was hiding behind looked down at her, and she found herself staring back up. As their eyes met, she realized, underneath the faint light of a nearby streetlamp, that they were green. A little darker, and they would be just like hers. He looked at her scared, trembling, young face and his eyes narrowed as he zeroed in on the bleeding laceration to the skin, a bruise forming around it.

“Get behind that dumpster, and don’t watch.” He told her in a gravelly, deep voice, and she was too frightened to argue, scampering to follow his orders. She slid down, back pressed against the dumpster and her knees up as she listened.

“Hey! What are you- “ a loud thud and grunt of pain cut James off midsentence, and Kris felt her curiosity rise too high to follow the man’s instructions. Cautiously, she peered around the dumpster.

Her mouth fell open slightly as she watched. The dark figure moved fluidly, like water, as he delivered several harsh blows to James stomach, kicked his knee in, (that made her wince) and then slammed his fist into his jaw. The overweight man dropped like a sack of a potatoes, and then it was silent.

“I thought I told you not to watch.” His gravelly voice made her jump, and she realized he wasn’t even looking at her. Standing, she quietly slinked over to him, feeling a little more intimidated than before.

“How’d you do that?” She asked, and winced when her mouth opened, stretching the cut near the corner of her mouth. James’ ring had delivered a deep, nasty nick to it, and it kinda hurt to speak.

“I learned when I was young.” He responded, turning to face her. “What are you doing out this time of night? Your parents are probably worried.”

At the _P_ word, she dropped her head, resisting the urge to scowl so as not to aggravate her cut. “I don’t have any. I got in trouble at the group home, and the administrator made me help at her families convenience store.”

“Is that who this is?” The man asked darkly, nodding to the unconscious form by his feet. She shook her head.

“No, it’s his sister.”

The man was quiet before crouching down to her level, looking at her face. His eyes seemed to soften.

“How long have you been in foster care?”

She shrugged. “My whole life, I guess. I never knew my parents, but I’ve always been trying to find out. That’s why I was in trouble, Ms. Oscar caught me trying to break into the files again.”

The twelve-year-old could’ve sworn she saw his lips twitch, and he stood, offering a hand.

“Well, let’s get you home, then. It’s cold out.”


	2. CHAPTER TWO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so no one's confused, this story takes place during Batman Begins right as Bruce is becoming Batman, and Kris met him right after he ran from the cops after threatening Gordon with a stapler, (that shit is hilarious out of context lol).  
> Enjoy!

He knew that look.

Once Bruce got home that night, (and hopped into an ice bath to ease the aching muscles and joints he’d banged against the railing during his failed and rather impulsive escape from the cops) he thought back to the young girl he’d saved from the predator that had been chasing her.

The thought made his knuckles clench against the edges of the bathtub. He’d sworn not too long ago that he would not kill once he started doing this, and he intended to hold that up. But he also knew that if there was one group of criminals that he would have a hard time holding to that standard, it was pedophiles. None deserved to breathe.

But when he saw that child’s face, hazel-green eyes wide and terrified, face completely white with fear…

He’d seen himself.

And he knew better than anyone that the group homes and foster system’s in Gotham were worse than anywhere in the country. Thousands of children with no home, no one to care for them, and no real hope of becoming successful adults. It was a breeding ground for criminals, forcing them into harsh conditions, repeatedly abusing them and showing no one cared about them, and then throwing them out into the world without a second thought; no concern for them or how they’d defend themselves.

He wasn’t sure how long he stewed on the idea before it fully formed in his head, but when it clicked, it really clicked.

_I can change that now._

Maybe he couldn’t take on a whole family of orphaned children, **(sure thing Bruce lmfao)** , but he could take on this one. He had a chance to be the change someone needed, be the change a child needed.

He had that chance.

“Alfred, have you ever thought about when I would have kids?”

The white-haired butler looked over to his young master, who sat staring thoughtfully out the window as he sipped a cup of coffee. If the man was being completely honest, he had thought about it. In fact, he’d hoped for it. Every time he went to bed at night when that boy was off who-knows-where in the world, he’d prayed with every inch of his being that it was because he’d found a partner, had some kids, and was truly happy.

“And what brought this on, Master Wayne?”

Bruce paused, eyes narrowed in deep thought. “That girl I saved last night, she couldn’t have been more than twelve. And already, she was having to learn how to fend for herself.” He looked over at the man who had raised him, eyes burning. “What kind of life is that?”

“I’m afraid that orphan’s will always be in this world, Master Wayne.” He responded sadly. “Lord knows I’ve seen my fair share be born from war.”

“Well, what if she wasn’t an orphan anymore?” Bruce’s next words nearly made him drop the plate of pancakes he was carrying, and he raised his gray eyes in shock at the man. Bruce continued. “Or wasn’t in foster care anymore, at least.”

“Master Wayne, you can’t seriously be considering-“

“I know how it feels, Alfred.” Bruce said lowly, pain leaking into his voice. “To know that there’s suddenly two less people in the world who could give a damn about you, to realize that you’ll never get that happy family life that everyone always talks about.” He tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the coffee mug. “I want to go visit some foster homes in the city today. I’d love it if you’d join me.”

He still remembered the first time he’d seen Kristina.

She’d been a baby. A tiny, tiny baby. Elizabeth was gone, she’d carried the pregnancy to term even when both he and the doctor had told her it would end in her death. But his twin sister was always so stubborn, a trait she seemed to share with her daughter. They told him she lived just long enough past the delivery to hold her daughter, kiss her head, and give her a name.

And then, she was gone.

The doctor had exited the room and handed the baby to him, apologizing for the loss of his twin, his partner, the one he was supposed to change the world with. He had almost shoved the infant back into the useless physician’s arms, furious with it for taking the only person he ever loved away from him, when he saw her face.

Even at barely an hour old, she had her mother’s nose, and lips. Her little eyes had opened by now, and, like most newborns, they were a pale blue. Those eyes were wide, curious, looking around at everything with a wonder that someone her age shouldn’t have been able to possess. Then her eyes landed on his face, and he could have sworn she gave him something like a smile.

He wasn’t a stupid man; he was the furthest thing from it. He knew he was in no position to care for a child, much less an infant, and he had no desire to. But he did intend to put her somewhere where maybe, just maybe, he could find her again. And he had.

Elizabeth had refused to tell him the name of the father, it was a secret she had carried to her grave. Even now, with all his contacts, he still wasn’t able to find him.

But that was alright, though. Kristina didn’t need her biological father, she had _him._

Jonathan Crane was a patient man, but he found himself becoming more and more intolerant of the amount of time it was taking Ra’s Al Ghul to reach Gotham. Once the League of Shadows brought this city to its knees, he would take his beloved niece and would show her all the things that he had intended for himself and his sister to do together, once they rose to prominence. Ra’s had sworn never to harm the child; on the contrary, he actually seemed quite excited to meet her. 

It was almost time. Soon, he would have his family, the last family of his that existed.

And then all would be right in the world.

“So, you’re sure you’re ok?” John asked her, sitting next to her on the bench.

The masked man had returned Kris to the foster home and had helped her sneak through the window, only instructing her to get to bed before disappearing into the night. Which, if she was being completely honest, had been _so cool_. The second the sun had rose, she’d sprang from bed, ready to shower and prepare for the day. She was still forbidden from the yard at the group home, but that didn’t stop her from seeing John at school. She’d tracked down her best friend during lunch and immediately pulled him off to a bench nearby, explaining the experience.

Kristina Smith and John Blake had known each other since they were five and six. She’d been wandering around the playground, looking for something to do, when a soccer ball caught her eye. As fast as she could, she raced over and kicked it with all the might in her tiny body. Unfortunately, that sent the ball sailing straight into John’s face, who wasn’t too far away. The incident had landed him with a black eye, and when Ms. Oscar had brought her to the nurses office and firmly instructed she apologized, John had just smiled and excitedly asked if she’d like to play with him next time.

And just like that, a friendship was born.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She muttered, biting her fingernails. The cut on her lip had been hard to explain, and she stuttered out something about running into a rusty door hinge. Weak, but enough. The nurse had cleaned it up and gave her a tetanus shot before sending her on her way. There wasn’t much to do in way of bandaging it, and she’d been informed that regretfully, it would scar.

“That asshole.” John growled, clenching his fists. “You have to tell someone, Krissy!”

“No!” She nearly shouted the objection, then looked around, quieting her voice. “You know she’ll take James’ side, he’s her brother! And then they might send me somewhere even worse for lying!”

“But you’re not lying!” Her best friend said firmly, “You’re telling the truth!”

“Please, don’t tell anyone, John!” She protested, shaking her head frantically. “I don’t want to get in trouble, don’t tell!”

John sighed, scratching his head of black hair before nodding. “Ok, fine. But I want to start helping you with the convenience store stuff. Maybe if I punch Austin Mayhorne a second time, she’ll start sending me there with you.”

Kris smiled, leaning in to hug her friend. If there was one bright spot in her life, it was John. 

Eventually, school ended, and she found herself on the bus back to the group home. She finished her homework before they even got there, leaving her bored. Jonathan was right, this stuff _was_ too easy.

She gasped suddenly, sitting up. Oh no, her stuff! She’d left all her books and puzzles in the store! Would Jonathan be mad at her? In all her time knowing him, he’d never yelled or gotten angry with her, but she _had_ lost his stuff he’d give her.

She was so busy worrying that she didn’t seem to notice the sleek black car parked in front of the group home. She entered through the kitchen as she always did, wanting to avoid the crowd of children that always clamored through the front door; they were so loud. As she started up the steps, though, a shrill voice made her heart jump.

“Oh, Kristina, _there_ you are!”

She whirled around to see Ms. Oscar stalking towards her. The woman’s pointed face always seemed to be pulled back into a permanent scowl, but for just a second, the child thought James may have told her what happened.

“Come with me, girl!” The woman barked, and Kris followed, though her legs felt like they were about to give out. It suddenly felt hard to breathe, and she resisted the urge to whimper. What if Ms. Oscar made her _see_ James again? The thought alone was enough to make her want to run, and her eyes landed on a window not too far away, seriously considering the idea.

“Oh, stop dragging your feet, Kristina!” Ms. Oscar snapped, and they soon found themselves outside a large, oak door. Ms. Oscar looked at her and scowled again, pulling a small hairbrush from seemingly out of nowhere and began raking it through the girl’s head. Kris bit her lip to keep from crying out; her long, wavy brown hair always seemed to get ratted like water always seemed to slip through cracks.

“You will behave yourself, you hear me, girl?” The woman said sternly, finally done brushing her hair and stowing the brush away. “You will not speak unless spoken to, you will address him as ‘sir’ at all times, and you will _not_ talk back, do you understand?”

“I don’t talk back!” Kris shot back, even though it was true. Just last week, when the woman had caught her in her office, Kris had told her to fuck off. She had no idea what it meant, but she’d heard it on TV, and it sounded good. Ms. Oscar raised her beady blue eyes back to Kris’s hazel ones.

“I mean it, child. This is not time for your attitude!” She stated with finality, and finally opened the door, her face changing so fast it almost hade Kris’s head hurt.

“Here she is, Mr. Wayne.” She said pleasantly, a painfully fake smile spreading across her face. At the sound of the name, Kristina looked up in shock.

She’d never seen Bruce Wayne in person before, and she had to say, he looked like she’d always thought he might. He was much younger than Ms. Oscar, with brown hair and hazel green eyes; kind of like hers. An arrogant smile was etched on his face, but when he looked at Kris, the expression softened. He was dressed in a suit, and it just _looked_ expensive. His hair was smoothed back, collar pristine, posture relaxed.

He looked like a billionaire, alright.

“Ah, Kristina?” Bruce asked, standing. He held out a hand, his expression friendly. “It’s a pleasure, I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

Kris stared at his hand in confusion and suspicion before shaking it. She’d never had an adult shake her hand before, and it was strange. Why was the ‘Prince of Gotham’ _here_?

“It’s nice to meet you too, sir.” She responded robotically, and she saw Ms. Oscar’s face tighten in the corner of her eye. Oh well, she could deal with it.

“Have you just returned from school?”

She nodded, then remembered she was supposed to respond verbally, “Er, yes, sir.”

Bruce chuckled lightly, shaking his head, “Oh, please don’t call me ‘sir’. It makes me feel old.”

She found herself laughing back a little, but then she remembered: Bruce Wayne wasn’t going to adopt her. No one was. She wasn’t a cute little five-year-old anymore, and even when she was still young, her attitude was what had turned most, if not all potential parents, away.

The realization seemed to solidify like a hard, gray rock in her chest, and she bit her lip.

“Ms. Oscar, is it alright if I go for a walk with Kristina, maybe get to know her a little better?” Bruce’s voice pulled her from her thoughts, and a sudden jolt of fear hit her when the administrator left without a word. 

_Wait, don’t leave me alone with him! What if he’s like James?_

But Bruce never approached her. He simply walked over to the door in the room that lead out to the garden, (if you could call the dying plants, over flowing weeds, and the occasional red Morning Glory that) and opened it, nodding at her. “Would you like to join me, Kris? It’s up to you.”

Hesitantly, she followed him into the garden, watching as he put about four feet between them as they walked. “So, Ms. Oscar showed me your reports cards. You seem to do really well in science, is that your favorite subject?”

She nodded , pursing her lips. “Yeah, I really like lab days. I think it’s fun.”

Bruce chuckled again, smiling widely. “Yeah, I liked that stuff, too. But I was usually getting into fights with the other boys when I should’ve been in class.”

His words almost made her stop dead, and she looked up at him in shock. “Wait, you got into fights?”

“Oh, yeah. All the time. There was this kid: Tommy Elliot, man, he always liked to pick on me. He was always making comments about my parents and my family’s money.”

“Did you punch him?”

“Yes, I did. Pretty hard, too, he started crying.”

The two shared a laugh at the mental image of conquering a bully, and the conversation actually started to feel comfortable. Soon, they’d finished their lap around the garden, and Bruce stopped, crouching down in front of her.

“So, listen, Kristina. I talked to Ms. Oscar while you were at school, and I’ve come to decision. I would like to adopt you, if that’s ok.”

His words threw her completely off guard for so many reasons. First of all, she’d never heard someone express a desire to adopt her. Second, he was talking to her like she was his equal, not like other adults always seemed to talk to her. And third, he’d asked if it was _ok_.

“You mean like, I’d go home with you and live with you?”

“Well, not just me. I’ve got a butler, Alfred. He’s really excited to have a younger kid in the house again, let me tell you.” The billionaire chuckled, then smiled softly. “But I want to make sure that you _want_ to come with me.”

“Why?”

“Why do I want to adopt you?”

“No, why do you want my permission?”

Bruce looked at her, eyes flashing with an emotion she didn’t really understand. “I know how it feels when you don’t have parents, Kristina. You feel like all these adults are suddenly making all these decisions _for_ you, no one is asking what you want or what you’re ok with anymore. They’re always talking down to you, treating you like you’re stupid just cause you’re young. But you aren’t, Kristina. You’re an extremely smart girl, and not only do I want to adopt you, but I want you to be happy.”

Kris wasn’t sure she believed him, but there was something in his expression that she’d never seen on adult’s face before. It was completely kind, and gentle, and… what was that word Jonathan had taught her, it started with a _v_ … oh, yeah, vulnerable.

So, she found herself nodding slowly, and Bruce’s face split into a wide grin. He stayed at her level and stuck out his hand.

“Well, Kristina, I really look forward to getting to know you.”

The twelve-year-old almost laughed at his faux ‘business’ tone and accepted his hand, shaking it firmly.

“You, too, _Mr. Wayne._ ”


	3. CHAPTER THREE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adjusting to a new home is hard; for everyone.

Kristina’s Bedroom <https://www.pinterest.com/pin/503136589623970834/>

* * *

Kris’s mouth fell open as the car rolled up in front of Wayne Manor. When Bruce said he lived in a mansion, she was thinking of the only mansion she’d ever seen, the one on _The Adams Family_. But this was _huge_. It honestly looked more like the Hogwarts castle than a house.

She jumped out of the car, lugging her backpack and garbage bag full of clothes behind her. When she had exited the group home to meet Bruce and his butler, Alfred, they’d looked extremely startled that she didn’t have a suitcase or anything big enough to carry all her things.

As she started the walk to the door, Alfred walked up beside her. “Allow me to take those things, miss.” He offered gently, holding out his hands. Kris hesitated. Thievery was so common in her life, she’d learned it was best to always keep track of the things you treasured, no matter what. Unconsciously, she gripped her bag and her trash sack tighter. 

Alfred smiled warmly. “I promise no harm will come to them, Miss Kristina. I will simply put them in your room.”

Biting her lip, she hesitantly handed her trash bag to him, but kept a tight hold on her backpack. Upon exiting the home, she’d asked if they could go by the store and get her things, if they were still there. Bruce had told her she could stay in the car while he got her stuff, and came back out with the backpack and all her books, reassuring her that James hadn’t been any trouble. She was just happy she wouldn’t have to see him again.

Bruce stopped beside her, and she noted how he again kept a safe, comfortable distance between them. “Well, would you like a tour?”

The manor was so big, it took them almost an hour to do the full tour. The kitchen was full of food, and Alfred showed her a pantry full of snacks that she was allowed to eat. He also asked her what she wanted for dinner that night, and she had just stared at him silence, a little shocked. What _did_ she want to eat? Nobody had ever _asked_ , they just put the food on her plate and told her she should be grateful.

She’d finally found her voice and requested some meat and potatoes, since that was usually what was served at the home on special occasions like Thanksgiving and Christmas. It was then they showed her the living room, ball room, parlor, dining room, Bruce’s study, (which she wasn’t allowed to go into without him) the multiple bathrooms, and right before her room, they showed her the library.

“These are _all_ yours?” Kris asked, walking around. Her jaw was almost on the floor as she stared at the shelves and shelves of _books_ , and she didn’t have to check them out or have them back by any amount of time. She could just _read._

“Well, they’re yours, too.” Bruce teased lightly, “Just don’t go climbing up the ladder without me or Alfred there, you get hurt.”

Finally, they stopped at a large, heavy-looking brown door. Bruce twisted the handle, and the door swung open to reveal a large room.

It was nothing like Kris had braced herself for. She had been expecting lots of pink and purple, which she didn’t have a problem with, but they weren’t her favorite colors. The room was dark blue, with a teal, cushioned looking bed that held some pink pillows and a white comforter. It was a few feet from a window with white curtains and cursive black writing above it that read _Kristina Elizabeth._ There was a green lava lamp on the white beside table, and a hanging chair that she had never seen before but really loved sitting across from it as well, filled with cozy looking pillows and blankets. A large, star-shaped chandelier hung over the room, and the wall opposite to the bed was filled with shelves, empty, as well as a large white dresser. A door was just to the right of them which she assumed was to the bathroom, another door was on the other side of the shelves that was probably a closet, and directly across from them were a set of French doors that lead to a balcony.

“I know there’s no books on the shelves,” Bruce told her, sounding almost hesitant, “but I was thinking you could pick them out, so that way you kind of have you own private library.”

She couldn’t say anything, only staring at the room in shock. Bruce watched her, feeling nervous for the first time in a long time.

“If you don’t like it, that’s totally fine, we can get someone in here to-“

“I love it.” Kris cut him off, turning her head to face him. Even if the room was nothing like she’d wanted, she wouldn’t have said anything. This place was much nicer than the group home, and she would avoid going back there at all costs. Bruce’s face dropped into a relieved smile, and he ran a hand over his face.

“Well, great! I’ll let you get settled, and then you can join Alfred and I for some dinner.” He told her gently, then left to let her get settled in. Kris heard the door click behind her, and wandered to the center of the room, looking around.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

After she had loaded her limited wardrobe into the dresser, she went through her backpack and pulled out her books, placing them all on the lowest shelf she could reach, right at the farthest left corner. It looked almost comical how little space her collection took up in the large room. As she finished dumping her things out on the bed, a picture fluttered down onto the bedspread. Her chest ached a little when she saw it was of her and John, taken the year prior at the school Christmas celebration. The two were making silly faces at the camera and wearing ugly green, red, and white sweaters.

The conversation between the two when she left had been painful. John was sad to see her go, but they had both teared up when they realized they would no longer be together, even if she stayed. Her best friend told her he would be moved to the boys home that was almost on the other side of town, and would remain there until he was either adopted or turned eighteen. It was an unspoken, ugly fact that they knew he would never leave until he became an adult.

Another thing she worried about was Jonathan. How would he find her? Would he still be able to bring her books and puzzles? She knew she should be grateful for her new life, and she was, but she still kind of missed him. Something about him was just so familiar.

Finally, Kristina brushed her tangled hair back into a ponytail, wincing as the hairbrush caught on a few larger rats. She attempted to detangle them, but eventually gave up. Her hair had gotten quite long, reaching past her waist and almost to her hips.

Her sneakers squeaked against the shiny wooden floors as she jogged down, hooking a left and walking towards the dining room. A part of her actually began to fear she’d gotten lost when she finally found herself in the large room, the glittering chandelier hanging above the table as Bruce sat, the paper in his hands. When she entered, he looked up, smiling.

“Hey, Kristina,” he greeted lightly, “I hope you didn’t get lost trying to find your way here.”

She shook her head, lips twitching at his joking tone. “No, it was fine. Thanks, Mr. Wayne.”

As she climbed onto a chair, (it was almost embarrassing how short she still was for someone who was in middle school) Bruce shook his head.

“You know, you can call me Bruce, Kristina. Mr. Wayne is my father.”

“Oh, ok. Bruce.” They sat in awkward silence before she blurted out, “It’s Kris.”

“What?”

“I like to be called Kris. Kristina’s just too long.”

Bruce looked at her for a second before a genuine, happy smile pulled across his face. “Alright, then. Kris.”

They sat there for a few more minutes before Bruce suddenly folded up the newspaper, setting it on the table. “How about we go eat somewhere where I don’t have to shout, huh?”

She nodded, giving him a small smile as he stood and gestured for her to follow him. They turned a few corners and she realized he was leading her back to the kitchen. Speaking of which, an extremely delicious smell was getting stronger and stronger, making her mouth water. Finally, they entered the kitchen through a swinging door, and she was met with a sight she’d never seen.

A steaming pot of mashed potatoes sat cooling on the island, with a large bowl of brown gravy next to it. There was a soft sizzle in the air with the delicious smell, and she realized it was coming from the stove where she could just see a large piece of meat. Alfred looked up from a jug of juice in surprise, wearing an apron.

“Master Wayne, Miss Kristina,” he greeted kindly, “I was just finishing up the steak. I assume you would take yours medium well, Miss Kristina?”

Kris stuttered, shaking her head with wide eyes, “I’m not even really sure how to eat steak, I’ve never had it before.”

Both men stopped and turned to her, before smiling at themselves. “Well, then I guess we’ll just have to rectify that with Alfred’s famous cooking.” Bruce told her warmly, sitting down at the table in the corner.

An hour later, their plates were all empty. Kris couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so stuffed. The steak was delicious, and so were the potatoes. Alfred had happily responded to her requests for seconds, and then thirds, telling her she was much too skinny. It was true, of course. All the running around with John and the limited meals and snacks at the group home had given her elbows and knees like knives, with wiry limbs and quick feet.

“And then, I go out to the garden to find Master Wayne stuck in the tallest oak there was, complaining about how he was stuck.” Alfred finished telling her, and she laughed at Bruce’s expression as he shook his head.

“Hey, I thought I had that squirrel,” he defended, and the three laughed loudly together. It was probably the most Kris had ever laughed with strangers, if she was being honest.

Dinner finally dwindled down, and Bruce brought up her name. “So, Kristina; is that a family name?”

She felt her good mood dim, and she looked down at her empty plate, not noticing the slight glare Alfred threw Bruce’s way. She shrugged, fiddling with her fork.

“I’m not really sure where my name came from. I asked about it all the time, but nobody could ever tell me anything. I lived with a foster family until I was two, and then they decided they didn’t want to adopt me and turned me over to the group home.”

An awkward beat of silence followed, and then Bruce spoke up again. “So, Kristina, I’ve been meaning to ask you; do you like your school?”

Kristina paused, then shook her head. “No, not really. The only good thing about it was my best friend, John, but he just transferred to the boys home in the Narrows, so there’s not much I like about it anymore.”

“Do you think the work is hard enough for you?”

This time, she shook her head harder. “No, not at all. I’m always done with my work really fast, and then I get bored, and the teachers get mad at me.” She almost told them about the things Jonathan said about her school’s curriculum, but held it in. She didn’t want Bruce to think she liked someone better than him, even if was kind of true. She had just known Jonathan a lot longer.

“Well, what if we did things a little different now that you’re living here?” Bruce suggested, and she cocked her head at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I know some good personal tutors, and we could have them start teaching you so, that way, they can determine what level you’re actually at. Then, we can place you somewhere that you’ll be challenged. How does that sound?”

Kris paused, biting her lip. As much as she didn’t like her school, she also didn’t really want so much to change. Was she ready to suddenly leave everything?

Then, a thought occurred to her. Maybe if Jonathan saw how smart she’d been getting, he wouldn’t be so mad about her being adopted, and he would be proud of her, too. With that in mind, she raised her eyes to Bruce and nodded, her ponytail bobbing. A relieved smile took over his face, and he nodded, sipping on the glass of wine in front of him.

“Alright,” he said lightly, “we can start next week.”

The next two weeks with Bruce were, _different._

It wasn’t worse than the home, in many ways, it was a million times better. But Bruce always seemed to be gone, and her tutors could only keep her busy for so long. She had to admit, it was nice to have schoolwork that didn’t bore her. The math and science tutor, Ms. Litwenn, always had lots of nice things to say about her work and seemed genuinely impressed with her intellect. The same went for her English and Literature tutor, Mr. Hiddleston. She and her history tutor, Mr. Moore, didn’t get on too well, but she hadn’t told him to take his work and shove it yet, so she supposed they were doing ok.

Alfred was probably the best person in the manor by far. The old man always seemed to know exactly when she needed cheering up, and did it in a lot of great ways. He showed her the gymnasium and the pool, both of which she loved. She would often spend her time hitting the volleyball or kicking the soccer ball against the wall, attempting to get good enough so that when she and John saw each other again, she could keep her status as champion. Swimming was fun, too, but she always got tired pretty quick. Bruce seemed reluctant to let her leave the house, saying the press would want to catch pictures and stories. It kind of hurt when he said that; but she tried to ignore it. Maybe he hadn’t meant for it to sound like he was embarrassed by her.

Another thing that had been keeping her busy was following the Batman.

He’d popped up in the papers the morning after she’d gotten to the manor, and ever since then, she’d been following the story. She hadn’t told Bruce or Alfred about what James had done; a part of her was afraid they’d be angry, for some reason. She had kicked another adult, after all. But she was convinced the man who had saved her was Batman, she was sure of it. Bruce seemed to raise an amused eyebrow at her whenever she asked for the story about the Bat but would happily hand her the article from the paper.

But she was really, really lonely.

Being in the new environment was starting to suffocate her. She felt like she couldn’t speak her mind or truly say what she wanted to, in fear that Bruce would get fed up with her and send her right back to the home. She tried to force it down, but then she remembered that lesson in science about how if you put a bunch of baking soda and vinegar in a bottle and shook it up, it would just build and build and build until eventually, the pressure would become too much, and something would pop off somewhere.

Finally, one day, it happened.

Kris was bored to tears, and Alfred was at the market down in Gotham. He didn’t have to go, they usually got groceries delivered, but he told her with a wink that he occasionally liked to get out of the house. He’d told her in a regretful voice that Bruce didn’t want her being seen by the public, which has stung more than she was willing to admit.

So, she wandered around, wondering what she could do. She’d already finished about a quarter of the young adult books in the library, as well as _The Divine Comedy._ She’d loved it, especially the _Inferno_ part. She wasn’t sure why, but just the thought of fire and the element itself had always captivated her. So warm and beautiful, but at the same time, able to cause so much damage. She thought it was really cool.

But what she really wanted was to read something just as hard as that; she’d already finished the _Harry Potter_ series, _Lord of the Rings,_ and _The Hobbit._ Bruce was in his study doing some work, and she didn’t want to bug him. She bit her lip as she looked up at the higher shelves, and the rolling ladder that would give her access. That was one of Bruce’s few rules about the house; she couldn’t use it without someone there. But she’d fallen and scraped her knees and elbows all the time before, how could this be any different? Besides, she didn’t have any fear of heights.

Casting a glance behind her to ensure Bruce or Alfred weren’t near the entrance to the library, she quietly padded over to the ladder, placed her hands and foot on it, and pulled herself up. The ladder wobbled slightly, but stayed sturdy for the most part. She climbed up slowly, her eyes scanning the titles. Once caught her eye, making her pause.

_The Book Thief_ ; she knew that book! She’d started to read it during library time, but completely forgot about it when the teacher told them it was time to go back to class back in fifth grade. She reached for it, but swore quietly when she saw that it was out of her reach. Biting her lip, she wiggled on the ladder, testing its durability. The ladder definitely moved, but not by much. Satisfied with the outcome of the experiment, she reached to the side, straining to grab the books spine. The pads of her fingers ran across the other books, and she smiled slightly as she got closer. Almost there…

“Kristina!”

Bruce’s voice startled her, and she jumped, losing her balance on the ladder. It wobbled, then tilted, and a startled scream left her lips as the ground rushed up to meet her-

-and a strong pair of arms grabbed her, tucking her against a broad chest and rolling out of the way.

She and Bruce landed with collective groans, and they both looked over just in time for the ladder to fully tip over, the heavy wood knocking against one of the tables with full force. The table was knocked backwards, and a large, expensive-looking sculpture that had been sitting on it was sent soaring a few inches in the air, and straight through a window. Kris stared in horror as the glass shattered, and there was a beat of silence before she heard the distinct sound of the sculpture breaking against the cement below them.

Bruce swore loudly as he pulled her to her feet. She bit her lip and twisted the toe of one sneaker against the carpet as he went over to inspect the damage. The ladder was effectively broken in some areas and had knocked one of the legs of the table and splintered others; not to mention the shattered window and now broken piece of weird art that was about three stories below them. She watched nervously as his shoulders tensed and he ran a hand through his hair, turning around.

“Kristina, I know for a fact that Alfred and I _told_ you not to mess around with the ladder when we’re not here, right?”

Looking down at her blue converse, she shrugged.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, young lady!”

An indignant, angry feeling flared in her chest as the tone of his voice, and her head shot up, meeting his green eyes with fire in her own. She knew she was in trouble, and what she did was definitely wrong, but she _hated_ being spoken to like a child.

“Now, I realize this has been a hard adjustment for you, and I’m sorry, ok? I get that it’s hard-“

“No, you don’t!”

She had honestly shocked herself a little with the outburst, and Bruce looked over at her in shock, as well. But she continued, almost unable to stop the fire spewing from her mouth. “You don’t get it, you never will! I don’t have any friends, I don’t have any brothers or sisters, or even a mom! And even if I was still at the group home, no one liked me there, cause I was a freak!” The word felt like acid in her throat, and made it burn. Bruce held his hands up, walking towards her slowly.

“Ok, Kristina, I understand-“

“No! You keep saying you understand, but you never will! No one does!” Her voice broke slightly as she continued, “You’ve got this big house and this butler and all these people love you and call you a prince, but nobody thinks that about me! You don’t even want people to see me!” Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but she was on a roll. “You keep saying this is my home, but you’re just some rich jerk who took a little orphan in so he could feel good about himself because the rest of this city sucks! You don’t care about me, nobody does!” Tears were running down her face now, and her chest ached from screaming, but she didn’t stop. “And no matter what happens, you’re going to think the same thing about me that everyone does, that I’m some weird little girl that wasn’t as great as the first time you saw me, and then you’re gonna send me back to the group home!”

“Hey, Kristina, I’m not going to send you back-“ Bruce kept his voice low, but her emotions were starting to really get out of hand, and it felt like it was impossible to keep them in check.

“That’s what you say, but I can tell you’re going to! Otherwise, you would have let me leave the house so that the papers could see me. But you’re ashamed of me!”

“Kristina, I am not ashamed of you, but you need to _calm down_ …“

A white-hot _fury_ rose in her chest that she couldn’t describe; just hearing him trying to convince her to calm down just pissed her off more, for whatever reason. _Look how hysterical you are, he thinks you’re crazy, just like the rest of them…_ a little voice in the back of her head whispered tauntingly, _He’s gonna send you right back, nobody cares about you, stupid little girl…_

“Don’t tell me what to do!” She shouted back, and Bruce rose to his full height.

“You will not talk to me like that, young lady, I am your adoptive father-“

_“You are NEVER gonna be my dad!”_ Unable to stop herself, she picked up one of the books that had been knocked off the shelf when they fell and heaved it at him with all her might. Which wasn’t much, and he easily knocked it away before it hit him in the face, but she was already running. She heard him calling out to her, and then Alfred’s voice joined in, but her eyes were so flooded with angry tears that she had to focus all her attention on not tripping on the way to her room. Finally, she flung the door open and slammed it shut, locking it. She turned, pressing her back against it, and slowly slid down. Sobs began to wrack her body, and she heard knocking.

“Kris? Kristina open the door, I’m not angry at you, I just want to talk to you.”

Bruce’s gentle voice just made her cry harder, and she shook her head, wrapping her arms around her legs and putting her head on her knees.

_He’s gonna send me back. Why wouldn’t he?_

_No one wants me._

Jonathan Crane _was not_ having a good day.

No, scratch that, he wasn’t having a good _anything._ He’d been very close to gassing that entire damned group home when he went to visit Kristina and discovered she’d been adopted. He almost screamed at the incompetent administrator that he hadn’t given permission for that to happen, but that would have been stupid; not only had he taken concrete measures to ensure no one knew his genetic connection to Kristina, he’d given up all custodial rights the day he left her at the hospital.

The doctor sighed angrily through his nose as he straightened his jacket, walking down the steps of the holding cells for the GCPD. The psychologist there smiled at him pleasantly.

“Dr. Crane, thanks for coming.”

“Of course. So, he cut his wrists.” It wasn’t a question, more of a statement. He didn’t have time to waste with politeness, he needed to ensure Falcone didn’t jeopardize he and Ra’s entire mission.

“Probably looking for the insanity plea. But, if anything should happen…”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry.” He finished her sentence, giving her a tight smile as she let him into the room.

“Help me, doc, I can’t take it anymore. The walls are closing in, blah, blah, blah,” Falcone deadpanned, sitting at the table with two bandaged wrists. Crane shut the door behind him with a quiet _click_ , having to take great care to not slam it in frustration. “A couple of days of this food, and it’ll be true.”

Crane released a heavy breath through his nose, narrowing his eyes at the man in front of him as he set his briefcase down and sitting in the chair on the other side of the table.

“What do you want?”

“I wanna know what you’re gonna do to convince me to keep my mouth shut.”

“About what? You don’t _know_ anything.” Crane told him smugly, but Falcone only smirked.

“I know you don’t want the cops taking a closer look at the drugs they seized.” Crane’s expression hardened, but he steeled himself as Falcone continued, “I know about the experiments on the inmates at your nuthouse. And I know about that cute little niece of yours; just got adopted, right?”

At the mention of Kristina, Crane’s carefully crafted façade slipped just enough for Falcone to smirk wider. “See, I don’t go into business with a guy without finding about his dirty secrets. Now, I’ve been bringing this stuff in for _months._ Whatever _he’s_ planning, it’s big, and I want in.”

Crane leaned forward, tilting his head mockingly. “Well, I already know what he’s going to say. That we should kill you.”

Falcone scoffed, shaking his head. Then, his eyes zeroed in on Crane again. “Well, you might wanna try, doc. Cause if you don’t, that cute little niece of yours, Kristina? She might have an accident. Walking across the street to the playground, a car is going too fast, doesn’t see her. Maybe she’s not being careful enough on the monkey bars and has a bad fall.” The mobster shrugged casually.

Crane’s chest tightened in fury. Elizabeth had been dead for twelve years now; that was _twelve years_ without his younger twin, the one he’d shared a _womb_ with. Kristina had been the only connection he had left, and now, not only had some other family tried to take her from him, now Falcone actually had the gall to _threaten_ to separate her from him for good.

_Show him, Johnny,_ Scarecrow whispered in his mind, sounding giddy, _show him what happens when he threatens us! He’s gonna hurt her, are you going to let that happen? Let him hurt_ your _niece?_

He took off his glasses, folding them neatly and setting them on the table. “Would you like to see my mask?”

Falcone’s eyebrows shot up in confusion as he watched Crane. The doctor popped open his briefcase rather aggressively. “I use it in my experiments. Probably not every threatening to a guy like you,” he said softly as he double checked the breathing filter in the mask before pulling it from the case, showing it to the mobster, “but these crazies? They can’t stand it.” He whispered, shaking the mask a little as he slipped it over his head.

Falcone stared at him in disbelief, raising a hand to gesture at him in confusion and exasperation, “So when did the nut take over the nuthouse?”

Crane hit the button at the corner of the case, and the fear gas sprang in the air. Falcone jumped, inadvertently inhaling it, then began to scream. Crane stood, bracing his hands against the table as he relished in the fear of the man who had just threatened what was _his._

“They _scream_ and they _cry,_ ” he taunted, knowing whatever Falcone was seeing and hearing was much worse than what was actually in front of him. “Just like you’re doing now.” The feeling of pure power was intoxicating, and he sat there in front of the greatest crime boss in the city, listening to him scream in fear.

In fear of _him._


	4. CHAPTER FOUR

Bruce felt his chest ache in guilt as he listened to Kris sobbing on the other side of the door. He looked over at Alfred, feeling helpless. They’d been knocking on the door for about five minutes, but the young girl wasn’t responding to them anymore. He dug into his pocket for the key ring that went to most of the bedrooms, but a hand on his arm stopped him. He looked up at Alfred, who shook his head sadly.

“I think you need to give her some time, Master Bruce.” His father-figure told him softly, and the playboy sighed, but nodded. Pushing her too hard might mean pushing her away.

He hadn’t meant to get so angry at her. But when he saw her falling, heading for the floor from such a great height, a sudden series of images flashed in his mind of what could happen. Break her leg, her arm, her _neck._ And he wasn’t going to deny, even to himself, that it had scared him. He could’ve given less of a damn about the sculpture, (the thing was kind of ugly anyway) but he had been so furious that she’d nearly hurt herself that he hadn’t kept his temper in check. Guilt gnawed at his chest as her sobs faded behind him, walking back towards his study. He wanted to unlock the door and try and reassure her he meant no harm and that he wouldn’t send her back to that horrid place, but that wouldn’t do anything but make it worse.

Besides, he still had some research to finish.

After getting back into his study, he closed the door and almost locked it, but then decided against it. Just in case Kris wanted to come talk to him, he wanted her to be able to get in. Back at his computer, he brought the page back up he’d been looking at before the fiasco in the library.

He’d been searching for Kristina’s family. He’d managed to find the hospital she was born at, (Gotham General) but her birth certificate was, well, missing.

That had thrown him, he wasn’t going to lie. Birth certificates weren’t exactly _easy_ to get your hands on, but they still existed, and when he’d submitted his adoption paperwork, they had sent him a sort-of copy that was missing the names of her parents. Drumming his fingers against his desk, the vigilante switched tactics. Instead of looking for a birth on Kristina’s birth date, he looked for a death.

And he found exactly what he was hoping he wouldn’t find.

Less than five minutes after Kristina’s birth, a twenty-year-old woman who had given birth to a baby girl matching all of Kristina’s measurements died of massive blood loss following the delivery. The record stated that she had been having complications during the pregnancy and had been encouraged multiple times through out her check-ups and appointments to terminate it. For whatever reason, she hadn’t. But Bruce still couldn’t find a name.

He scanned through multiple hospital reports, but something was odd; they’d been altered. No reports would list the name of the patient directly in the summary and list of symptoms and vitals, but all reports had to be labeled with name, birthdate, and social security number. But all of Kristina’s mother’s reports had been tinkered with, and the spaces next to the required fields were blank. No hospital would give care without knowing the direct name and history of their patient, and that meant one thing.

Someone had gone in and taken everything out.

Bruce knew what that meant; whoever Kristina’s father or other family was, they had connections, most likely criminal. He was guessing they’d paid someone off at the hospital with access to the records.

Just to cover all his bases, he scanned through several more reports. What interested him was, on the date of Kristina’s birth, someone had apparently been there with her mother. He scanned the report again and realized with a start what it was saying.

_Patient’s twin brother was given chance to obtain custody; family member declined. Requested infant be placed within foster system in the city._

Oddly specific that the family member wanted Kris to stay in Gotham; was it because they were still in the city as well?

As he continued scanning through earlier reports of Kris’s mother’s appointments, something caught his eye. A video, labeled _Understanding and Acceptance of Risks Following Full-Term, High Risk Pregnancy._ The name underneath the video had been removed again, but he still clicked on it.

A black screen met him, and he narrowed his eyes. Bringing it up in a separate window, he started decoding the video. It was covered well, but not well enough; they clearly thought no one would attempt to look too hard. Of course, they’d only been worried about CPS and the government. The process took almost an hour, but soon, a clear picture of an older, sickly-looking version of Kristina popped up. Bruce was almost startled at how much the manor’s new resident looked like her mother as he pressed play. The video began, filming the woman sitting on the patient’s table, clad in a light blue patient’s gown.

_“Please state your name.”_ A soft male voice instructed somewhere off camera, and the woman nodded.

_“My name is Elizabeth Lynn Crane.”_

Crane… that name sounded familiar…

The voice off camera continued to speak, telling the woman the long list of risks that would follow with continuing to carry the pregnancy to term. She nodded along with his words, her pale and sunken face determined. It was as she spoke her understanding that he realized the difference between mother and daughter. Elizabeth had shockingly blue eyes, contrasting with Kristina’s own light hazel. Genetic trait of her father, maybe?

As the video wound down, a different voice off camera spoke up. _“Beth, this is crazy, why are you doing this?”_

Whoever had been holding the camera shifted it, and the bar at the bottom of the screen showed that it was about to end in a few seconds. But right before it did, Bruce’s eyes caught something he had not expected to see.

He paused the video, rewinding frame by frame, until he saw the scene with more clarity. Though the frame was tilted, it showed a dark-haired man standing next to Elizabeth, reaching for her hand. His glasses were flashing in the light of the room, but Bruce knew who he was looking at almost immediately.

Jonathan Crane was in the room with Kristina’s mother.

Heart rate speeding up, Bruce went back to the hospital report of Elizabeth’s death. _Twin brother_ …

Kristina did have a surviving family member, and he was very close by.

Jonathan Crane was Kristina’s uncle.

Picking up the phone, he dialed almost frantically, praying Rachel was still in her office. After a few rings, her familiar voice greeted him.

_“Hello?”_

Bruce paused, not knowing how she would react to him calling. “Rachel?”

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line before she responded. _“Bruce?”_

“Yeah, it’s me. Listen, I’m sorry about calling in unannounced, but I kind of need your help with something.”

_“Um, ok. What is it?”_

“Well,” he took a deep breath, unsure how to spill the news, but decided to just bite the bullet. “I don’t know if you know, but I recently started the adoption process for a child.”

He could practically _feel_ Rachel’s shock, and he knew for a fact that her mouth had fallen open and her eyes had widened in that cute expression she always got when something surprised her. She stuttered several times before she managed to get a sentence out.

_“Wh- wow, Bruce, that’s- why- why did you do that?”_

Bruce honestly didn’t know how to answer that. Why _had_ he done it? He wasn’t sure if he knew the truthful answer himself yet, but he knew that somewhere in him, he had a good reason.

Even if he couldn’t voice why, even to himself.

“Uh, well, I guess you could say I know how it feels.” He told her softly, and there was silence on the other end of the line again.

_“Oh. Well, if you’re calling for help with the paperwork, I don’t normally handle that stuff; but I can give you the names of some really good custody lawyers-“_

“No, no, that’s not the reason I’m calling. I did some digging, and I found out she actually has a living relative in the city; it sounds like he knows she’s here, but he gave up all rights to custody and therefore I never had to get in contact with him about the process.”

_“Ok? Is there a question in there, or…?”_

“Well, yeah, I thought you might know him. Jonathan Crane?”

He heard a sharp intake of breath on Rachel’s end, and a sound that resembled someone dropping something on the floor. _“Wait, Jonathan Crane?”_

“Yeah, it looks like he’s her maternal uncle. Did you know he had a twin sister?”

_“No, no I didn’t.”_ Rachel swore softly on the other end of the line, then sighed. _“Bruce, Crane’s bad news. As in, we think he might be connected to Falcone.”_

Bruce stopped dead, wondering if he’d heard his friend correctly. _You’ve got to be kidding…_

“Connected how?”

_“Every time we manage to catch one of Falcone’s thugs, Crane is always there to testify in favor of putting them in Arkham; he’s the lead psychiatrist there. He’s a pretty creepy guy, Bruce. Do you think he’ll try and regain custody?”_

“It doesn’t look like it, but I still don’t want him knowing about this if he’s actually connected with the mob.” Speaking of which, his eyes caught the time on the clock, and the setting sun outside. It was time for his other job. “Look, I have to go, can I talk to you about this later? And maybe you can send me everything you have on Crane?”

_“You got it. And, hey, Bruce?”_

He stopped, having been about to hand up, and brought the phone back to his ear. Rachel was quiet for a few seconds, then spoke again, her voice softer and more sincere.

_“It’s a good decision, adopting her. What’s her name?”_

“Kristina.” Bruce supplied, “But she’s already told me she prefers Kris. She’s about twelve.”

_“Maybe I could meet her? You know, just, whenever you guys have time.”_

The billionaire felt a smile start to creep at the corners of his mouth, and he nodded, even though Rachel couldn’t see him. “Yeah, I think that would a great idea.”

After exchanging some rather awkward goodbye’s, he hung up, and started for his piano. Not only did he need to talk to Gordon about Flass, but maybe the sergeant would know more about Kristina’s uncle.

As he started to go down to the cave, he paused, looking back at the door. Kris hadn’t come to see him; was she ok? The girl obviously had a habit of getting into trouble, what if she’d gotten hurt again?

A feeling he couldn’t identify started to rise in his chest, and he started for her bedroom, intent on just knocking on the door to check in. But when he did, there was nothing. He knocked again, softly calling her name, but was still met with silence. Feeling a little more than concerned, he brought out the keys, unlocking the door and peering into the room.

Kristina was curled up on the floor, her face streaked with dried tears. Her closed eyes and soft, even breathing told him she was fast asleep, and he pressed his lips together as he pocketed the keys. So, she was safe. He could get back to work.

_Well, the floor doesn’t look very comfortable, she’ll hurt her neck._

Stepping into the room, he bent down, supporting her back with one arm and another under knees as he gently lifted her up. She shifted, and he froze, but she relaxed again, settling against his chest with a soft sigh. He carried her gently to her bed, not that it took much effort. She weighed next to nothing.

As he lowered her onto the bed, she suddenly whimpered, clutching at his shirt. She started mumbling incoherently, but he could’ve sworn he heard her say, “No, please don’t leave, please don’t leave me alone…”

Reaching up, he attempted to remove her grip, but nearly cursed when her hands refused to budge. How could someone so tiny be so _strong?_ Several more tries yielded the same results, and finally, he gave up.

An idea popped into his head, and he turned, settling himself on the bed with the young girl still curled up like a cat in his arms. He began to sing softly.

_Hey Jude, don't make it bad_

_Take a sad song and make it better_

_Remember to let her into your heart_

_Then you can start to make it better_

His singing voice was horrible, but he still remembered how his mother used to sing it to him. The Beatles had been a favorite band of his parents; there were still some records in the manor that they used to play all the time when he was young.

As he sang, the child’s face relaxed, and she seemed to fall deeper into her sleep. He was able to shift her onto the bed, but kept singing. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt the need to finish the song. It was a long one, and he had work to do, but the sight of her peaceful, innocent face seemed to push him along. Once he had finished, he pulled off her sneakers and grabbed the white afghan that was folded up at the foot of the bed, draping it across her form.

Not noticing Alfred standing in the doorway, smiling tearfully at the scene in front of him. The butler slipped off right as Bruce turned around with an impressive amount of stealth.

A soft groan fell past Kris’s lips as she came to, and the girl shifted, feeling her hands brush across soft fabric. She opened her eyes, groggy and confused, and was met with soft, dark blue fabric and a dark room.

_What? Where…?_

The events from earlier suddenly started trickling back into her mind, and she sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes. A slow, bitter dread started to solidify in her chest. Bruce had probably already called Ms. Oscar and asked for a car to take her back to the group home.

Wait, why was she in bed? Hadn’t she fallen asleep on the floor? Maybe she was sleep walking again. It hadn’t happened since she was eight, but the doctors said it could be possible.

She looked over at the clock, and saw that it was about 11:36. It was dark outside, too; how long had she been asleep?

As quietly as she could, she slipped out of bed, (when had her shoes been taken off?) and padded over to the door, wincing as it creaked when she opened it.

The hallway was completely empty, so Bruce was probably asleep. She was about to turn around and head back to her bed, maybe to do some puzzles before she fell asleep again. But her stomach growled loudly, and she grabbed it. Oh, that’s right, she hadn’t eaten dinner after her melt down.

She bit her lip as she remembered the tears and the screaming. If the girl was being honest, she felt a little ashamed, and just plain sad. She’d tried _so hard_ , she hadn’t cursed, hadn’t yelled, hadn’t talked back, none of it. And then, right when Bruce and Alfred were starting to like her, she’d gone and ruined it, like she always did. Tears welled up in her eyes again, and she turned around to crawl back into her bed when she spotted her backpack, sitting right next to her nightstand. She frowned, feeling determined.

_If Bruce is just gonna send me back, I might as well go try and find Jonathan; at least I know he wants me._

With that in mind, she grabbed her backpack, stuffing it full. She couldn’t fit all her clothes and books in there together, so she decided to sacrifice half of her shirts. They were wearing out, anyway.

Slinging the straps over her shoulders, she tiptoed out of her room and down the hall, heading for the front door.

Just one problem.

She couldn’t remember how to reach the front door.

All the windows were locked, and she couldn’t get them to budge, either. Groaning in frustration, she continued to search, hoping she came across an exit before Alfred or Bruce woke up. After trying several different doors, she found herself in the garage.

The preteen paused her escape mission and stared; she couldn’t believe just _one man_ owned all these cars. He couldn’t even drive them all at the same time, so it seemed kind of stupid. She began to slink between the cars, searching for a side door. The button to open the garage was right there, but she knew it would alert one of the adults in the house.

As she felt like she was nearing the exit, the door to the house opened, and she dropped to the ground in a crouch, eyes widening. She heard a familiar voice on the phone. _Alfred?_ Whoever he was talking to, he sounded really upset, and actually kind of scared. His footsteps were getting closer, and she looked around, panicking. Her eyes fell on the car door next to her head, and she grabbed at the handle, breathing a sigh of relief when it popped open quietly. She slipped inside, shutting the door silently behind her just as Alfred came walking up right next to her hiding spot. She laid down on the floor of the backseat of the car, holding her breath.

_Ok, I’ll just wait here until he leaves…_

Before she could even finish her thought, the drivers door to the car she was hiding in popped open, and Alfred got in, frantically starting the car and beginning to drive away.

_You’ve got to be shitting me._

Unable to move without alerting the old man she was there, she stayed silent, wide-eyed, laying on the floor of the car as it drove through the night. Sheets of rain pounded on the metal and glass, and she listened to him speaking on the phone.

“Just hold on, Master Bruce- Master Bruce? Master Bruce, please answer!”

_Why was he calling Bruce? Wasn’t he at home sleeping?_ She wondered, feeling confused. She continued to watch through the sun-roof as the streetlights passed over them, and she realized that they were on a bridge. Not just any bridge, the bridge going into the Narrows.

_What was Bruce doing in the Narrows?_

Unable to hold in her curiosity anymore, she sat up, grabbing the seats, “Hey, Alfred-“

The butler gave a startled cry and the car swerved, nearly hitting another car coming straight towards it. Kris was thrown harshly onto the backseat, and she sat up as Alfred righted them. He turned back to her, his weathered face un-characteristically startled and almost angry.

“Miss Kristina! What on _earth-?_ ”

“Well, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!” She protested, holding up her hands. “Is everything ok? What’s wrong with Bruce?”

The butler looked at her in the rearview mirror, not slowing down as they got further and further into Gotham’s worst neighborhood. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Miss Kristina.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, folding her arms across her chest. “Really? Cause I heard you talkin’ to him.”

Alfred met her gaze in the rearview mirror, raising his own eyebrow in return. “And just what are you doing spying in the backseat of a car at this time of night, young lady?”

She bit her lip, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Um, nothing…” she trailed off, and Alfred’s eyes fell on the bag at her feet. His face softened just a tad.

“I can’t take you home right now, Miss Kristina, we have to go and get Master Bruce, I’m afraid he’s hurt. If you get up here and buckle your seatbelt, I won’t mention this little outing of yours to him.”

She wanted to protest that he was probably going to send her back anyway, but decided not to push her luck. If he was willing to let her tag along, she wanted to. Maybe if she helped, Bruce would see that she actually wanted to stay, if he would let her.

The roads got worse, and she looked around sadly. She knew how hungry the homeless men on the street felt, how angry and scared the children out this late at night were. She even noticed a few kids that looked just shy of her age stealing a few pieces of fruit from a cart.

Alfred finally parked the car behind a building, and he turned to her, face stern.

“Now, I need to go get Master Bruce. You will stay here, keep the doors locked, and not open them for _anyone_ that is not myself, am I clear, Miss Kristina?”

Now, Kris wasn’t intimidated by a lot of people, but something about Alfred’s tone told her she wouldn’t want to deal with consequences of disobeying him, so she nodded quickly. Satisfied with her answer, he got out and locked the doors, hurrying off into the night.

The rain continued to pound on the car, and she looked around anxiously. Why was Bruce _here_? She was going to go out on a limb that someone would’ve noticed Gotham’s Prince in the poorest part of town; was he partying here? She doubted it.

As her eyes roamed over, moving figures caught her eye. Sitting forward, she squinted, trying to see through the rain. It was a tall, lanky figure, getting into a car. The rain was thick, but whoever it was looked _really_ familiar. They had a weird, ratty brown hood on their head, and she could only see the back of them as they jumped into a car, speeding off the opposite way.

Who was-?

Her thoughts were cut off by a sharp knocking the window, and she jumped, screaming.

Alfred was standing outside the car, in the rain, supporting the freaking Batman on his shoulder. 

The car was speeding down the wet streets, and Kris was almost a little afraid that they might crash. Alfred was clutching wheel tightly, his eyes watering, mouth set in a fearful and upset expression. The young girl was supposed to be looking straight ahead, but she was turned around, holding onto the back of the passenger seat, staring at Batman- _Bruce-_ in fear.

“Alfred, what’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know, Miss Kristina, but he’s injured. We need to get him back to the manor.”

Kris turned her gaze back to the new authority figure in her life, watching in fear and concern as he twitched, mumbling incoherently. He was awake, but his eyes were glazed over, and it seemed like he wasn’t even looking at her or Alfred.

“Poison…it’s poison…the rabbits…” he wasn’t making any sense, and it was really starting to freak the twelve-year-old out. Right as she was about to speak to Alfred again, Bruce’s eyes seemed to become more focused, and they zeroed in on her.

“It’s him…dangerous…stay away…keep…safe…keep Kris safe…” he whispered frantically, and then he was gone again. Kris stared at him in shock. Safe? Why, was she in danger? Who was ‘him’? Who was dangerous?

When they finally managed to get him inside and back into his room, Alfred sent her out so he could undress Bruce, and told her she needed to call Lucius Fox immediately, his number was on the fridge by the phone in the kitchen. Her fingers shook in fear and confusion as she dialed, feeling freaked out by how she’d seen her new authority figure. Bruce always seemed so put-together, never showing too much emotion, and seeing him like that made her just feel _scared_.

_“This is Lucius Fox?”_ The voice on the other end was male, and tired; she probably woke him up.

“Hello? You work with Bruce, right?”

_“Um, yes…who is this?”_

“My name is Kristina, Bruce is my,” she stopped, unsure what to call him. “He’s my foster dad, Alfred said I needed to call you. He’s hurt, and he needs help.”

_“Hurt?”_ Lucius’s voice sounded more awake, and she heard shuffling in the background. _“Hurt how?”_

Kris hesitated at this; did Lucius know Bruce was Batman? Should she really tell him? What if that wasn’t a good thing? Finally, she decided Bruce’s safety was more important.

“Well, I don’t know if you know, but he’s, well, he’s Batman, and he’s really hurt. Alfred said he’s hallucinating or something; he says it looks like Bruce was drugged. His costume is smoking, too. It kind of looks like it was on fire.”

_“Did he say what Bruce was drugged with?”_ She could hear footsteps and keys jingling in the background, and then a door opening and shutting. _“I’m coming over right now, is Alfred there? Can I talk to him?”_

As if on que, the butler practically materialized next to her, holding out his hand. She handed him the receiver, and started for Bruce’s room again, but Alfred’s voice stopped her.

“Miss Kristina, Bruce needs his rest, and so do you. It’s best you go up to bed now.”

Kris opened her mouth to protest, but Alfred was already on the phone with Lucius, talking in a low and serious voice. Sighing, she started up to bed, but didn’t feel tired. If anything, she felt even more hyper than she had before. Probably from all the excitement and the random nap she’d taken. As she shuffled past Bruce’s room, she heard him turning and whimpering, and she paused. Slowly creaking the door open, she stared, wide-eyed, at Gotham’s hero, tossing and turning in his bed. He was sweating, and looked like he was in a lot of pain. Not only that, he looked really scared.

And that scared her.

Her mind flew back to their fight; all the things she’d said. Guilt started to build up in her chest. What if that was the last thing Bruce ever heard from her? What if he _died?_

_Why do you care? He doesn’t want you, silly little girl. You’re going right back to that group home as soon as he wakes up._

Kris shook her head, trying to ignore the mean voice in the back of her head, but it didn’t do much. She felt selfish for worrying about going back to the group home when Bruce was like this, but she was still scared.

“Miss Kristina.”

She jumped, turning around. Alfred was standing there, holding a tray that was holding what appeared to be lots of medical supplies. She shuffled to the side, letting him pass into the room, but followed him in. Alfred either didn’t notice her or didn’t care that she was in there with him as he started hooking up a weird tube to Bruce’s arm and opened up multiple bottles of stuff that looked like medicine.

“Is Bruce gonna be ok?” She asked softly. Alfred paused in his movements, and turned back to her. A sad smile came across his face, and he sat, holding out an arm. Hesitantly, she stepped forward, allowing the older man to bring her into a side-hug. It was hard not to feel comforted when Alfred was there.

“He’ll be fine, Miss Kristina. I believe I told you to go off to bed now, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, tucking some hair behind her ear, “but I just got worried for Bruce.” She paused, biting her lip. “I’m sorry I was trying to run away, Alfred, I just didn’t want to go back to the group home…”

“Why would you be going back there?” Alfred asked, looking confused. She turned to him, eyes wide.

“I- I thought you and Bruce were gonna send me back…”

Alfred scoffed lightly and pulled her closer, hugging her tightly. She melted into the embrace, sniffling a little, before he pulled back, holding her arms.

“Listen to me, young lady. If anybody can understand losing one’s temper, it’s Master Bruce. Believe me, he won’t send you back just because you had an argument; he had his own fair share of fights with just about everyone after his own parents passed.”

“Well, I also broke the ladder; and the table, and that sculpture, and the window.”

Alfred actually laughed at that, shaking his head. “All very easy things to fix, Miss Kristina. You should’ve seen the damage your adoptive father has done to this manor over the years; a little hellion, he was.”

Kris laughed at Alfred’s fake, scolding tone and they both looked over to Bruce, who had stopped mumbling and was now simply twitching. Her face fell again and she turned back to Alfred.

“Why does he do it, Alfred?”

Alfred was quiet for several seconds before he answered. “The Wayne’s have not only been a very affluent family in this city’s history, Miss Kristina, but they’ve always used their position to help those less fortunate in the city. Bruce’s own father, Thomas Wayne, nearly went bankrupt attempting to save this city during the depression. Master Bruce, however, struggled for a long time. He was angry, I think; angry at the city his parents tried to hard to help, angry at himself, at the world. He was away from home for a long time learning how to control his anger.”

That was the first time Kris felt like she knew how Bruce was feeling. At times, she was also just so mad. At Gotham, at her parents for leaving her, at the rest of her family that obviously didn’t want her, whoever they were. At herself, at the Oscar’s, at the group home, all of it.

But if Bruce was angry, and still doing good stuff, maybe she could, too.

Alfred sighed and stood, placing a hand behind her shoulder blades. “You shouldn’t be here for this, Miss Kristina. Let’s get you to bed, now.”

After she was in her pajama’s and teeth brushed, Alfred softly bid her goodnight and shut the door behind him, turning off the light. For several minutes, Kris lay awake, staring at the ceiling above her. She was actually kind of tired now, coming down from the high of all of the excitement, but she still couldn’t sleep.

Finally, she couldn’t stand it. Getting out of bed, she gathered up her blankets and dragged them behind her, padding determinedly down the hall to Bruce’s room. Alfred wasn’t there, so she quietly slipped through the door. There was a chair next to Bruce’s bed, and on the other side, a small couch. She slipped onto it and pulled her blankets over her, sitting next to her new adoptive parent.

Bruce didn’t look worse, but he also didn’t look good. He was still sweating, twitching, and would occasionally mumble something she didn’t understand. Kris bit her lip, unsure how to help him feel better. No one had ever really comforted her beside John, and all he did was sit with her; his presence had been enough. Bruce obviously didn’t know she was there, so how was that supposed to work?

As she sat thinking, she began to hum. Nothing special, just a little tune that had been circling in her head for a few hours. If she was being completely honest, she wasn't even sure what song it was; but it sounded nice. Her singing voice was awful and her humming wasn't much better, but the soft sound of the wordless melody seemed to help fill the empty silence.

It was probably her own imagination, but Bruce started to look a little more relaxed. Her own eyelids started to droop, her humming becoming quieter and quieter until finally, she was laying down on the couch, blankets pulled over her, song tapering off into silence as she fell into a deep, warm sleep.


	5. CHAPTER FIVE

It had been two days since Alfred and Kris had retrieved Bruce from the Narrows. For a short period, he seemed to get worse, and Kris found herself terri- _mildly concerned_ \- that he would not survive. But then Lucius managed to create this cure of some sort through Bruce’s blood. She wasn’t sure how it worked _exactly,_ but Lucius had allowed her to watch as he worked with it under a microscope. It was _really cool_ , and when she’d told Lucius how much she enjoyed science at school, he’d offered her a chance to come by Wayne Enterprises every once in a while and get a chance to look around at all the projects. It would’ve sounded lame to any other kid, but to Kris, it sounded like Disney World.

She’d spent the nights on the couch next to Bruce’s bed, and would usually read or do puzzles by him, too. After Lucius had worked his magic under the microscope, the injected something into Bruce’s arm with a needle, telling her it was a cure for what Bruce had been drugged with. Lucius didn’t seem to have a name for it, and Alfred would always shoo her away whenever she asked about the side effects or what exactly the drug did. But, when she’d eavesdropped on the two men just outside the kitchen last night, she heard Lucius explaining something about ‘hallucinations’ and ‘worst fears’ and ‘adrenaline’.

Finally, the third day came. Kris was outside, kicking her new soccer ball around the grass. Alfred had told her they could look into ordering a goal, (like, an _actual_ goal, with its own net and everything) but until then, she’d taken some old cones she found near the garage and set them up, practicing the drills John had shown her.

It was then she heard Alfred’s voice calling her name. She looked up to see the butler standing at the door, his face holding concern, but relief.

“I believe someone would like to see you, Miss Kristina!”

Abandoning her ball, Kris took off towards the butler. He told her Bruce was talking to a friend of his that was a lawyer in the front part of the manor, and she didn’t bother to stick around for anything after. Her black sneakers slapped against the wooden floors as she practically flew through the maze of hallways, having memorized the way out after that little accident of ending up in the garage. As she got closer, she heard two voices, one of them Bruce and the second a was a woman she didn’t recognize.

“I just wanted to drop off you present.”

“Bruce!” Kris cried, and slammed into the man’s midsection as both adults turned to her. The billionaire playboy let out a loud _oof!_ as her head and bony shoulders slammed into his stomach, her arms winding around his hips. Despite being twelve, Kris’s head barely came up to his ribs. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She told him honestly, not paying attention to the woman who was watching in part confusion, part amusement. As the younger girl pulled away, the woman’s eyes widened as she saw her face.

“I’m glad to see you, too, Kristina.” Bruce told her honestly, putting a hand on her shoulder and turning her so she could see the woman. “Rachel Dawes, I would like you to meet Kristina Smith.”

The woman, who Kris noticed was actually really pretty, smiled at the young girl, sticking out her hand. “It’s so nice to meet you, Kristina, Bruce has told me so much about you.” She greeted sincerely, and Kris hesitantly stuck her hand out to shake it. Seeming to sense the child’s discomfort, Bruce spoke up.

“So, why won’t you be able to make it to the party?” He asked, and Rachel cast a nervous glance in Kris’s direction.

_Oh, great_ , the twelve-year-old thought. She knew that look; adults always got that look on their face whenever they started talking about things that she shouldn’t be hearing. Just as she suspected, Bruce looked down at her and nodded over to Alfred, who was behind them and helping with the preparations for Bruce’s party that night. “Kris, why don’t you go see if Alfred needs help?” He suggested gently, and Kris looked up with a pout. However, it dropped when she saw the stern look on her foster father’s face, and turned, defeated, to trudge back to Alfred.

She couldn’t hear much as she walked away, pretending to get sidetracked with some flowers as the two spoke. When Rachel answered a phone call, though, her loud tone of voice caught the girl’s attention.

“What? Who authorized that?” She paused as the other person spoke, and her face dropped into one of anger. “Get Crane down there _right now_ , and do not take no for an answer; call Dr. Leeman and tell him we’ll need our own assessment on the judges desk by morning!”

At the mention of her friend, Kris darted back to the adults as Rachel hung up her phone. “What’s wrong?” Bruce asked softly, and Rachel sighed, neither of them seeming to notice Kris approaching.

“It’s Falcone, Dr. Crane moved him to Arkham on suicide watch.” The brunette said irritably, her voice holding a note of disbelief. Kris perked up. It was Jonathan!

“You know Jonathan?” She asked excitedly, wanting to see if Rachel could deliver the message of her adoption. Bruce and Rachel both turned to her as she spoke, their expressions dropping. She really couldn’t tell what their faces said, but Rachel reacted first.

“Kris, how do you know Dr. Crane?”

“I met him a few years ago; he visits me every week now. He knows how much I love books and puzzles, so he brings me some whenever we see each other. And he says I’m the smartest child he’s ever met.” She said proudly, puffing out her chest a little. The older woman’s eyes flickered over to Bruce in concern, but the billionaire was staring at his new ward in shock. Not appearing to notice the two adult’s slight horror, she narrowed her eyes in confusion. “Isn’t Falcone that mob boss?”

“You know Falcone, too?” Bruce asked in shock, and Kris rolled her eyes; adults could be so _dumb_.

“ _No_ , Bruce, but a lot of the boys that leave the group home usually go work for him. They tell their little brothers and sisters about it whenever they come back to visit.”

Shaking her head slightly, Rachel looked back up at Bruce. “Ok, look, I’ve _really_ got to get down to Arkham right now. It was a pleasure to meet you, Kristina.” She told the younger girl warmly, then turned back to Bruce. “And happy birthday, Bruce.” Then, she was gone, walking down the steps back towards her car.

Kris looked back up at Bruce, who started ripping away at the wrapping paper of a small box she hadn’t noticed he was holding. Standing on her toes, she peeked into the box to see that he was reading a small card that said, _Finders, keepers._ Inside the box was a small, metal arrowhead.

“She’s kinda bossy.” Kris commented. Then she smiled at Bruce. “I like her.”

As she spoke, her foster father looked down at her with another expression she’d never seen before and didn’t really recognize. Smiling softly, he placed a hand on her head, ruffling her hair slightly. She snorted, shoving his hand away jokingly. As she did, though, Bruce’s face got that look again; the one she always knew meant he had a plan that probably wasn’t entirely thought through but he was going to do it anyway. What was that word she’d read about last week? It started with…oh that’s right.

_Impulsive._

Bruce was really impulsive.

“Kris, stay here with Alfred and get ready for the party.” He told her firmly as she walked quickly next to him, almost jogging to keep up with his long strides as Alfred followed them. He smiled down at her. “Tonight is the night I introduce you to the press.”

A nervous flutter went through Kris’s stomach. Did that mean there would be camera’s? The twelve-year-old _hated_ having her picture taken, she always looked weird.

“Where are you going?” She asked, confused, as the trio continued on towards Bruce’s study. She now knew that it led to the Bat Cave, (a name she was very proud of) and he had now doubled down on his rule of not allowing her in there unsupervised; the vigilante knew she’d poke around for days until she found the way down to the cave.

“Rachel is in danger, I have to go save her, Kris.” He did his best to keep his explanation vague; he’d be telling his foster daughter about her family ties when she was older and more capable of understanding. Right now simply wasn’t that time.

“No, she’s not! She’s with Jonathan, and he never let anything happen to me.” She protested, but both adults didn’t seem to acknowledge what she said, much to her annoyance.

“Master Wayne, your guests will be arriving soon!” Alfred chimed in, sounding miffed. Bruce turned around, handing him the gift Rachel had given him.

“Keep them busy; tell them that joke you know.” He winked at his butler and slapped him on the arm before continuing off to the study. As he left, Kris looked up at the butler in confusion.

“What joke?”

Kristina wouldn’t say she _hated_ dresses, but she sure didn’t _like_ them.

They were hard to run around in, and you couldn’t dribble a ball between your feet before your legs started to get tangled in your skirt. That being said, Alfred actually did a really good job of picking out her dress.

It was a dark blue, sleeveless and lace. It went just above her knees, which she thought was great, cause she actually hated floor length. The skirt and fabric under the blue lace was white, which normally didn’t look great with her pale skin, but for whatever reason, looked great on her this time. Alfred had also brought in a nice lady with bright bred lipstick to put her hair up in a complicated braid/half-bun, curling the rest of her hair and leaving it down her back. Finally, she slipped on some white flats and gave a twirl in front of her bedroom mirror.

Kris couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so… _pretty._ She was always wearing hand-me-downs or donated clothes, which meant lots of ripped jeans, faded t-shirts and hoodies. People did donate dresses, but they always looked really old and ugly, and were in pretty bad condition. So, she’d left them for the other girls. And though she wouldn’t really admit it to anyone, she kind of liked getting dressed up like this.

A soft knock at the door made her jump, and she turned to see Alfred standing in her doorway, smiling proudly. “Why, Miss Kristina, you look stunning.”

Kris’s cheeks felt hot, and she ducked her head. “Thanks, Alfred.” The older man led her down the hallway and the stairs towards the ballroom, where she could hear lots of chattering adults, all holding glasses of champagne. She’d seen Ms. Oscar drink it, once.

“Master Bruce just called ahead, there has been an accident-“

“Is he ok?” Kris stopped dead, looking up the old man in alarm. Alfred nodded reassuringly.

“He’s fine, don’t you worry, miss. However, that means he won’t be able to introduce you like he wanted to right at the beginning of the party. I have to over see the wait staff, will you be alright by yourself?”

She wanted to say no and beg to stay up in her room with her books until Bruce got back; the thought of facing so many strangers made her stomach tie in knots. But she hesitated; if her new foster dad could dress up as a bat with a cape and still manage to catch the bad guy every night, she could handle a small party with a bunch of stuck up, rich people. Sticking her chin out and pulling her shoulders back, she nodded.

“Don’t worry, Alfred, I’m brave. I can do it.”

The old man smiled at her, a flash of recognition and nostalgia in his eyes, before he ushered her into the ballroom.

The party was filled with people, none of whom she knew or had ever seen before in her life. You’d think somebody would’ve raised a question about a twelve-year-old, (that still kind of looked closer to nine, if everyone was being honest) wandering around a party full of adults by herself, but everyone just kind of assumed she was someone’s child and her nanny wasn’t around.

It was about two hours into the party, and Kris was bored out of her mind. She’d managed to snag quite a few mini sandwiches from the servants, some of which who had snuck extra’s to her with little winks, but there was no one to talk to. No other kids seemed to be there, (shocking) and so she sort of wandered, shying away from weird old ladies and creepy old men that always seemed to be crooning at her and reaching out to stroke her head like a dog.

Finally, she found herself in the hallway, heading towards the library. She figured she could hide away in the little seat by the window until she heard Bruce come up from the Bat Cave. Slipping her flats off, she padded quietly down the wooded floors, the soft sound of feet hitting the ground the only thing that filled the air besides the classical music and loud talking that was behind her.

“Sneaking off, are we, little one?”

Kris jumped nearly six feet away, whirling around. Her fingers curled tightly over her flats in panic as she faced the speaker, heart still pounding in surprise.

A man, dressed all in black. He was tall, much taller than Bruce or Alfred. His black suit, shirt, and tie contrasted with his olive skin and pale mustache. It looked kind of funny, like the cats she sometimes saw with similar ones, straight at the top and then drooping over the corners of the mouth. Nevertheless, his brown eyes gleamed as he walked towards her, a black gloved hand holding a cane. He didn’t appear to be limping, though, so she wasn’t sure why he was using it.

“Um…” she bit her lip, looking around. The man chuckled lightly.

“Oh, no need to explain yourself to me, young one. I have a daughter myself.” The man’s eyes softened. “You remind me of her, she was never particularly fond of large gatherings, either.”

As he mentioned his own child, Kris relaxed slightly, but still felt tense as the man stopped a few feet away from her. He seemed to sense this, and shook his head softly. “There’s no need to fear me, Kristina. Dr. Crane has told me a great deal about you.”

“You know Jonathan?” Kris visibly relaxed, unintentionally taking a step towards the stranger. He smiled wider.

“I do; we’ve known each other for quite some time now, and he seems highly impressed by your intellect. He tells me there’s not a single puzzle he’s given you that you weren’t able to solve.”

At the praise from one of the few trusted adults in her life, Kris straightened. This man knew Jonathan, and Jonathan would never put her in harms way. “I really like puzzles; not sudoku, but I like reading a lot.”

“I am fond of the written word myself.” The man agreed, the two of them beginning to walk down the hall. “And I must agree with you, though numbers are important, they are quite headache inducing at times.”

“How do you know Jonathan?” Kris switched the subject, realizing that Jonathan had never actually mentioned any of his ‘friends’ to her. Now that she thought about it, she’d never thought about anybody else that her friend may have known except for her. He’d never talked about his family before, so she’d assumed he was in the same boat as her: alone.

“We were business partners for a very long time. I also knew Bruce, he’s a very old friend.”

“You know Bruce, too?” She asked, confused. Why had neither man mentioned this stranger to her?

“We have not spoke in quite a while, but I actually was his teacher.”

“What did you teach him?”

“Many things, little one, many things.” The stranger suddenly stopped walking, and crouched down, closer to her height.

“I actually believe the birthday man himself is arriving soon, would you like to accompany me back to the ballroom? He’s told me all about his big announcement tonight.” He smiled warmly at the end of his sentence, but something in his eyes seemed… _different_ than what his face was saying.

Kris, however, smiled back and nodded. If he knew Jonathan and Bruce, that meant he could be trusted. The two were some of the few adults she actually trusted herself.

“Wait, what’s your name?”

“It’s Ra’s, my child. Ra’s Al Ghul.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUN DUN DUUUUNNNN!  
> Hey y'all! I'm so glad you guys seem to be enjoying this story, Batman has always been my favorite comic book and cartoon, so I'm glad I'm finally getting to write for the fandom. So, I actually wanted to tell y'all: I was planning on separating the movies into books, but since this first book is going to be pretty short, I'm going to combine it with The Dark Knight. I'll also add some chapters in between the movies showing more of Kris's relationships with the characters and giving more hints as to who her biological dad is (since I know some people are going to guess, it's not Bruce). But I would love to hear your guesses in the comments!


	6. CHAPTER SIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, the last chapter of Batman Begins! I'm glad I got to use this movie to lay the really important foundation of this story, and for Kristina's character.   
> In the honor of the end of the first movie: There are three hints spread throughout the first five chapters that point towards Kristina's biological father. The first one is the biggest, and the other two can either be really obvious or open for interpretation, depending on your current guess. Can you spot them?

Once Mr. Al Ghul had led her back into the ballroom, Kristina spied Bruce, talking to Lucius. She started to step over to talk to him and ask if Rachel was ok, but the tight grip Ra’s had on her hand stopped her.

“Just wait, little one, we’re going to surprise Bruce.” He told her, smiling. But the smile didn’t look like the warm one from before; it looked darker, and a little meaner.

But there wasn’t much she could do before he pulled her away, circling Bruce like a shark as a blonde woman pulled him over to a man with a beard just like Ra’s. She looked up at her new friend in confusion, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at Bruce, eyes gleaming, his hand starting to get tighter on hers. As Bruce and the blonde woman greeted the man, Ra’s pulled her forward, strolling casually up to Bruce and putting his cane over his shoulder.

“You’re not Ra’s Al Ghul.” She heard her foster father say in an accusing tone. “I watched him die.”

That one sentence sent confusion flooding through her, and a little bit of fear. She looked up at the real Ra’s, the one holding her hand, but he was smirking at Bruce’s back before he finally spoke.

“But is Ra’s Al Ghul immortal?” He asked softly, “Are his methods _supernatural_?”

Bruce turned, his jaw tightening. He didn’t seem to notice Kris yet, who was standing a little ways behind Ra’s out of fear. What was going on? Jonathan would never send someone her way to hurt her, would he?

“Or are they cheap parlor tricks to conceal your true identity, _Ra’s_?” Bruce accused lowly, his face darkening. The man in question only smirked, amusement coloring his face.

“Surely a man who spends his nights scrambling across Gotham’s rooftops wouldn’t judge me on dual identities.” He mocked, and Kris took another step back as his fingers slipped through hers in distraction, freeing her. She could practically _see_ the tension between the two, and while she wanted to run, a part of her stayed. What if Bruce needed help?

“I saved your life.” Bruce told the man harshly, but Ra’s face only dropped to something akin to irritation.

“I warned you about compassion, Bruce.” He told his prior pupil, and Bruce looked around. That was when his gaze fell on Kristina, and his eyes widened. Turning to Ra’s, his voice dropped to a whisper, almost pleading.

“Your quarrel is with me, and me alone. Let this people go, let _Kris_ go.”

Ra’s Al Ghul only tilted his head mockingly. “You are welcome to explain the situation to them,” he whispered back, taunting the man, before nodding back at Kris. The twelve-year-old turned to go find Alfred but found two large men dressed all in black blocking her way. One of them clamped a firm hand on her shoulder, and her voice caught in her throat, heart pounding in fear as Ra’s spoke again. “And as for Kristina, it’s very important to me that she witnesses this.”

Bruce stared into the child’s eyes, wide and terrified, as she looked back at him. His jaw tensed again, and he grabbed a glass of champagne off a waiter’s tray as he turned, walking towards the center of the room. At first, Kris’s heart dropped in confusion, but then her foster father began speaking.

“Everyone!” He exclaimed, his tone of voice now light, arrogant, and a bit slurred. “Everybody!” The music stopped as everyone turned to him. “I want to thank everyone for coming here tonight, and drinking all of my booze.” The crowd laughed lightly, but Bruce wasn’t smiling. He took a large gulp of his drink and looked around again. “See, that’s the thing about being a Wayne is, you’re never short a few freeloaders.”

Even at twelve, Kris’s stomach turned as she realized what was happening. Bruce was trying to evacuate the party. She turned to look at Ra’s, a new sense of urgency over taking her. _Who was this man?_ Ra’s actually reached a hand out, gesturing at the man who was holding her shoulder. He let go, but right as she was about to start walking towards Bruce, he put a hand on her shoulders, holding her directly in front of him. She trembled as Bruce continued to speak, the feeling of Ra’s leather gloves on her bare shoulders constantly reaffirming the danger she was now in.

“So, here’s to you people.” Bruce sneered, holding up his glass and then lifting it to his lips to take another swig. An older man stepped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder and whispering something, but the young billionaire shrugged him off, slurring something about not being finished.

“So, to all of you _phonies_ , you two-faced friends, you sycophantic _suck-ups,”_ as he went on, the crowed was murmuring among themselves, looking confused and just a touch ashamed, “please, leave me in peace. Please _go._ ” The crowd looked at him in shock, but he only threw a hand towards the door, scowling. “It’s not a joke, _go._ ” His voice took on a hard tone, and everyone started filing out, staring at both Bruce and each other as if to mentally ask, _is this really happening? What’s going on?_

The crowd filed out, and several made passing comments to the billionaire, but Kris was too busy looking up at Ra’s Al Ghul in horror. The man patted her head lightly, whispering, “It’s alright, little one. Come.” He said it gently, but his hand, tight on her shoulder, let her know that it wasn’t a request. As they neared Bruce and the last party guest left the room, she slipped from Ra’s hold and ran to Bruce, locking her arms around his waist again. Her foster father put a comforting arm around her shoulders, holding her tightly as he glared up at his former teacher.

“Amusing.” Ra’s observed dryly, “but pointless. None of these people are going to live, your actions at the asylum forced my hand.”

“So, Crane was working for you.” Bruce stated darkly, and Kris found herself wanting to ask why they kept mentioning her friend, but the words were caught in her throat. All she could think about was herself and Bruce getting away safely.

“Of course. His gas is derived from the organic compound found in our blue flowers; he was able to weaponize it.” They all began walking down the hall towards the library, and Kris didn’t dare let go of her foster father, clinging to him. She felt safe under his arm, he was _Batman_. Nothing could hurt him, and as long as nothing could hurt him, then nothing could hurt her.

“He’s not a member of the League of Shadows.” Bruce said. It wasn’t a question, and Ra’s scoffed slightly.

“Of course not. He thought our plan was to hold the city to ransom.”

“Is that why Kris is here? You know about her connection to him?” The vigilante did not want this to happen here, he didn’t want _this_ to be how the new member of the Wayne family found out about her family ties. But he didn’t really have the courtesy of being gentle about it, right now. He had to ensure she survived.

“No, actually.” Ra’s denied, a secretive smile taking hold of his face. “I requested to meet her when I arrived in Gotham.” He looked warmly at the child. “Crane tells me of her intelligence, her superiority over other children. It’s something I’ve been searching for.”

The compliments did little to lessen the hostility in Kris’s gaze as she glared at him from her safe place by her hero.

“But you’re really going to release Crane’s poison on the entire city.” Bruce observed, trying to deflect the attention away from the young girl, and Kris felt horror seep into her bones.

_Poison? Was Jonathan behind what happened to Bruce?_

No, he couldn’t be. He wasn’t like most adults, she knew him.

Right?

“And watch Gotham tear itself apart thought fear.” Ra’s finished, a proud, sardonic smirk taking over his face.

“You’re going to destroy millions of lives.” Bruce growled lowly, slowing down as the tyrant continued walking ahead of him.

“Only a cynical man would call what these people have ‘lives’.” Ra’s retorted, “Crime, despair; this is not how man was supposed to live.” They stopped, facing each other. “The League of Shadows has been a check against human corruption for _thousands_ of years. We sacked Rome, loaded trade ships with plague rats, burned London to the ground. Every time a civilization reaches it decadence, we return to restore the balance.”

“Gotham isn’t beyond saving.” Bruce attempted to reason, “Give me more time. There are good people here.”

As the two bantered, Kris honestly wondered who was right. She’d suffered firsthand at the problems in Gotham: hunger, abuse, and at times when she ran away from whatever foster home they’d attempted to place her in, homelessness. But she also knew that there would good people in the city, just like Bruce said.

Was Gotham really that bad? Had it gone too far?

“You were my greatest student,” she tuned back into the conversation as Ra’s tone took on a regretful shadow, “it should be you standing by my side as we save the world.”

Bruce glared back at the man, and responded, his voice dark, yet soft. “I’ll be standing where I belong. Between you, and the people of Gotham.”

Both Kris and Bruce expected the man to get angry. But then, the dictator’s gaze shifted to Kris, and he smiled.

“It’s does not matter anymore. I’ve already rectified my mistake.”

The vigilante’s face shadowed in confusion, and then dropped. Realization and horror seemed to dawn on him, and his lips parted as he stared at the tyrant in front of him, his words solidifying in his head. He pushed Kris behind him, and the young girl let go of his waist, backing away in fear and uncertainty.

“You didn’t want to meet Kristina because of Crane; you need an heir.”

“The League of Shadows will always need a new leader.” Ra’s told him, eyes gleaming. “I am always very careful when it comes to choosing my new pupils.”

“Did Crane know?”

Ra’s scoffed. “Of course not. I simply told him there would be a better life for himself and the last member of his family, should he work for me. After that, it took very little persuading.”

At the word ‘family’ Kris felt her head swim. She didn’t _have_ any family, Jonathan wasn’t related to her! He was her _friend_ , he would have told her! Tears started to well up in her eyes, but she blinked them away harshly. She would not cry, not in front of _them_.

Ra’s took a step closer to Bruce, “ _No one_ can save Gotham.”

As he nodded behind them, a loud crash caused Kris to jump and turn in fear. The black-suited men that had been following them were tipping over furniture, and pulling out large bottles. As they began splashing the liquid inside onto the broken furniture and the floors, the smell hit her nose and almost made her gag.

_Gasoline._

“When a forest grows too wild, a purging fire is inevitable and natural.” Ra’s continued as the men threw sparks onto the gasoline, flames springing up and dancing across the fuel. Normally, Kris loved watching them, but now, all she felt was fear and disgust.

“Tomorrow the world will watch in horror as it’s greatest city destroys itself. And this time, nothing will stand in our way.”

“You’ve tried to sack Gotham before?” Bruce accused, and Ra’s shrugged.

“Of course! Our weapons have grown more sophisticated over the years, but this time, we tried a new one: economics. However, we severely underestimated some of Gotham’s citizens.”

Kris felt herself stop dead as his words sunk in, and she turned to Bruce. The look on face told her that he understood what the mad man was getting at, as well.

“Your parents were gunned down by one of the very people they were trying to help.” Ra’s taunted as he strode past Bruce, and Kris pressed herself up against a wall beside them, not wanting to be close to the man anymore. He wasn’t paying attention to her, though. “Create enough hunger, and everyone becomes a criminal. Their deaths galvanized the city into saving itself, and it has limped on ever since. We are back to finish the job.”

The flames were growing, licking the ceiling, causing pieces of it to drop onto the ground. Kris gave a small yelp as she narrowly missed being hit by a small, burning piece of wood, and she turned back to the men in terror. “Bruce!”

But neither acknowledged her as they spoke, and she looked around frantically. As she did, her eyes fell upon one of the broken table legs from her little accident a few weeks ago. She looked back over at the pair as she slinked gracefully over to it, reaching out to curly her fingers around the heavy wooden blunt.

“When someone stands in the way of true justice,” Ra’s continued, his eyes glinting with wicked triumph, “you simply come up behind them, and stab them in the heart.”

A man dropped behind Bruce, and Kris’s heart jumped. “Bruce, look out!”

The billionaire turned, stopping the man’s fist and slammed his own into his head, knocking him to the ground heavily. Ra’s Al Ghul pulled the handle of his cane, revealing a long sword. The two began to dance, the dictator slashing at the vigilante, and Bruce barely managing to keep himself from being cut. Finally, he grabbed the sword between two flat hands and pulled it down, the two coming face-to-face.

“I am going to stop you.” He snarled lowly, and for a split second, Kris forgot who was fighting, Batman, or Bruce Wayne.

“You never did learn to mind your surroundings!”

With that exclamation, Ra’s shoved his former pupil away, and a large, burning beam fell on top of him, pinning him to the ground. A scream ripped its way out of Kris’s throat, soaked in surprise, fear, but most of all, _fury._

Running forward, she reached up, swinging the piece of wood at Al Ghul as hard as she could. He brought a hand up, stopping it effortlessly, and smirked at her.

“Don’t worry, little one, you will learn.” He proclaimed, and yanked the makeshift weapon from her hands, throwing it into the flames away from them. Before she could back away, he reached out, grabbing her arm in an iron grip.

“Justice is about balance.” Ra’s snarled at Bruce, who was groaning and still trapped under the burning log. “You burned my house and left me for dead. Consider us even.”

“Bruce!” Kris screamed, kicking and bucking against the hold Ra’s had on her arm, “Bruce! Get up! Please get up! You can beat him! Get up!”

But her foster father, the vigilante, the Batman, her _hero_ , could not lift the weight of the flaming wood that pinned him down.

“Bruce! Bruce, please, don’t let them take me!” Was the last thing he heard before they had pulled her from the burning home.

Kris struggled angrily against the hold on her arm, desperate to run back into the home. But as the exited the front door, Ra’s turned towards her, stopping them.

“Let me go!” She cried, trying to kick him. But her blows did little to him, and he reached a hand behind him.

“I’m sorry, young one, but you must remain out of my way for this part. Don’t worry.” He smiled at her before he lunged, and then a rag was pressed over her mouth and nose.

Kris scrambled angrily as an intense smell nearly choked her, stinging her nose and throat. But as soon as it started, it stopped, and her limbs felt heavy. The world started to go dark around the edges, and when his hold was gone from her arm, she found herself pitching to the side. A pair of arms caught her, though, and scooped her up bridal style. She was being rocked slightly, like the person holding her was walking, and the chest she was pressed up against rumbled lowly as she heard the very last words from him before it all went black.

“You have nothing to fear from me.”

Before she even opened her eyes, Kris knew things were bad. She could hear loud screams that sounded somewhat distant, and a loud, low-pitched hum seemed to vibrate the air around her. She groaned softly, her limbs weighed a million pounds, and her head felt like a brick. She shifted, and felt her joints pressing into something hard.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

The voice trickled into her consciousness, and it nearly made her jump when her mind finally came into focus and she realized who was speaking. Gasping, she sat up.

She was laying on the floor of the train, next to a large, metal block with a glowing blue circle at the center. She realized it was the source of the loud humming, and she looked around in confusion until she found the one who had spoken.

Ra’s Al Ghul was standing at the head of the train, working the controls. He pressed a button and the train lurched forward, nearly knocking her onto her back again. Glaring at him, she stood, stumbling slightly as her weak legs began to wake up again. Her flats had either fallen off or been taken off, but she was grateful.

She’d learned that fighting and running was easier barefoot.

“Where are we going?”

“We are spreading the legacy of the League of Shadows, Kristina.” Ra’s told her softly, holding onto the doorway to the conductor’s pod as the train continued onward, rumbling down the tracks. It was then that Kris heard it.

Screaming. So loud, so horrifying and bloodcurdling, that it managed to rise above the sound of the machine humming in her ears, and the train thundering over the tracks. Looking at the window, her face dropped in terror as she saw white gas being spread as they whizzed by, the dark figures of people scrambling below them. She looked at the machine, then at Ra’s Al Ghul.

“This doesn’t look like a legacy.” She accused harshly, but he only smiled at her tone, looking down and then back up at her again.

“I know you are too young to understand now, Kristina, but we will leave this wretched place together. As you grow, I will teach you the things I was taught, the things I taught many others.”

“Like Bruce?”

“Yes, like him. And like my daughter.”

Kris shook her head, taking several steps back. “No. I won’t go with you, let me off _now._ ”

Ra’s chuckled mirthlessly, gesturing around them, “I’m afraid there is no stopping this train, little one, but you are welcome to attempt to get off if you wish.”

He was taunting her, he knew she wouldn’t jump from the moving doors. And she wouldn’t, that would be suicide.

So, she did the best thing she could do.

She questioned.

“How do you know Jonathan?”

“I was telling you the truth, Kristina. I’ve been in contact with him for several years, since right after he met you. I was not lying then, and I will not lie to you now: at first, I considered you to be a distraction. But then, he showed me your intelligence. Your natural skills for problem solving, for finding answers in places none bothered to look.” A small smile gently softened his features. “As I said before as well, you remind me of my own daughter.”

“Is it true? Am I related to Jonathan?”

Ra’s sighed, pushing off the doorway and walking towards her. She didn’t move, not wanting to appear intimidated. Folding his hands behind him, he nodded.

“Yes. Dr. Crane was your mothers twin brother; when he discovered you, he was shocked to realize that you were still alive and in the city. After that, he began keeping a closer eye on you.”

Her throat tightened, and her eyes stung, but she held her tears at bay. She didn’t cry in front of him before, and she refused to cry now. “Why did he leave me in the group home?”

Ra’s only stared at her, searching her face, expression unreadable.

“I’m afraid that’s a question you will have to ask him yourself, young one. Once this is all over.”

Silence followed, and the screams and shouts outside made Kris’s stomach curl. But as she looked out the window, a familiar shadow caught her eye. The hazel orbs widened in shock and joy at the figure hanging onto a rope, dangling beneath them and swaying side to side.

Batman was here! He hadn’t left her, he was going to save her!

Kris looked back up at Ra’s, and realized she had to think fast. Unfortunately, she opened her mouth without _actually_ thinking.

“Did she die?”

At the confused look on the mans face, she continued. “You keep mentioning your daughter. Did she die? Why isn’t she here?”

It may have been the wrong question to ask. For a split second, he looked sad, and then his face morphed into fury. “No. She’s not dead. At least, I do not believe she is. When she grew to adulthood, she left. I had made a decision for her safety, and she could not accept it.”

“What did you decide?”

He paused, as if wondering if he should really tell her the truth. Finally, he spoke again, voice low. “I chose to rid us of a monster, a plague to the League. I knew this man would be the death of many, the loss of unnecessary lives. I acted for _her_ , but she could not accept that.”

At the pain in his voice, Kris almost felt bad for him. He clearly missed his child. But then she remembered what he was doing, how many children were being separated from their parents, how many orphans there would be by morning. All for the stupid _League of Shadows._

“What was her name?”

Another pause.

“Talia. Her name was Talia.”

Right as he finished speaking, the window further down the train compartment shattered. Kris ducked in surprise, pressing herself up against one of the walls between the seats and looked over.

Only to smile in relief.

Batman was crouched on top of one of the railings, glaring at the man in front of him. Ra’s turned to face him fully, lips twisting into a snarl.

“You will _never_ learn.”

With that, the two lunged at each other. Kris ducked and rolled out of the way of their clashing fists, Ra’s pulling out his own sword and slashing at the hero with it. She managed to roll out of the way multiple times, leaping over chairs and climbing the polls like a monkey as she watched the two rip into each other.

“Familiar!” Ra’s taunted, throwing one of Batman’s punches out of the way, “Haven’t you got anything new?!”

He swung his sword at the caped crusader, but the vigilante reached up, catching the blade in between he spikes on arm guards.

“How about this?!” He roared, pulling his arms apart and effectively snapping the steel blade. Then, they were fighting again, slamming each other into windows, into walls, as Kris watched in fear. At one point, Batman ran to stop the train, but Ra’s came up behind him, throwing him behind him and snapping the lever, stabbing it into the main controls.

Kris felt her heart sink as she watched. She wasn’t a train conductor, but she knew that whatever just happened probably wasn’t good if they wanted to stop the train.

Finally, she saw what the problem was. They were heading straight for Wayne Tower. She turned to call for her foster father, but before any sound could leave her mouth, Ra’s slammed him to the ground, pinning him. Fury rose in the girl’s chest as she realized what was about to happen.

“Don’t be afraid, Bruce.” Ra’s mocked as they continued speeding down the tracks, “you’re just an ordinary man in a _cape._ That’s why you couldn’t stop injustice, and that’s why _you can’t stop this train.”_

“Who said anything about stopping it?” Bruce rasped, and all three looked up right as a loud explosion shook them slightly. Kristina saw fire and collapsing pillars in front of her as the tracks caved in, and she turned around to see Bruce still incapacitated. Thinking fast, she jumped up, grabbing onto the overhead railings with both hands and swinging her feet, drawing her knees into her chest-

-and slamming them as hard as she could against Ra’s face.

A sharp _crack!_ emitted from the man’s nose, and he tumbled off of Batman. The vigilante slammed his own fist against Ra’s neck, flipping them around so that he now pinned Ra’s against the floor, raising his fist, the sharp edges of something protruding from in between his fingers as he held it threateningly over the man beneath him. Her eyes widened as she watched, fearing what he might do.

“Have you finally learned to do what is necessary?” Ra’s asked, and to Kris’s shock, he did not look the least bit afraid. He was staring up at his former student, looking calm, and even a little _proud,_ at the fate that awaited him.

Bruce looked up, meeting the bright, terrified hazel eyes of the young girl in front of him. Looking back down, he rasped, “I’m not going to kill you.” He threw his hand behind him, and Kris brought her hands up to guard her face as the wall behind them exploded, separating the front compartment from the rest and opening them up to the world outside. Reaching over, her foster father brought her firmly and safely against his chest.

“But I don’t have to save you.”

And then, they were flying.

Kris watched, her arms clamped around Batman’s neck and something hooked around her waist as two large, dark wings seemed to form out of nowhere. Up, up, up, they went, and right before the cape crusader began to bear off to the side, she watched the train run off the tracks, crashing into the ground below. A jaw-rattling _BOOM!_ seemed to shake the entire Earth, and she watched the fiery explosion rise from the broken asphalt, lighting up the carnage and destruction around them, until it was quiet.

It was over.

The sound of the hammer pounding into nails filled the air as Bruce laid slats of wood over the top of the hole. Kristin watched him from her spot on the other side, observing the last sliver of darkness being covered. They were surrounded by the burnt, ashen remains of Wayne Manor. The fire had ravaged everything, the world around them was black and gray.

“Why are you covering it up?” She asked, confused, as Bruce was finishing the last board. He looked up at her, smirking in amusement.

“Well, I fell down this when I was only nine years old, I’m not sure I want you to follow in my footsteps.”

Kris rolled her eyes. “ _I_ won’t fall, Bruce, I’m smart about that stuff.”

“I’m afraid some of the furniture in the library might disagree,” he teased lightly, and she blushed, ducking her head as he continued, “you seem to have a habit of getting into things you’re not supposed to.”

“That’s ironic, coming from you.” A new voice teased, and the two looked over to see Rachel coming through a surviving doorway, clad in a white silk blouse and black skirt. Seeing the doe-eyed look Bruce was giving the brunette, Kris wandered away, looking for anything surviving the blast.

It had saddened her greatly when she had learned all her things had burned to the ground with the manor, including everything she had to her name. Including all her books and puzzles, the ones she had yet to finish. Bruce had sworn to her that he would get her all new ones, and that he would have a new little library in her room rebuilt, bigger and better than before.

Her sneakers crunched over the burnt ash of the remains around them as she bounded up to Alfred. The old man smiled warmly at her and reached his arm out, wrapping it around her shoulders in a gentle hug. Bruce was walking over towards them, Rachel beside him, and a little smirk came over the twelve-year-old’s face when she saw their joined hands.

“Bruce and Rachel, sittin’ in a tree…” she sang mockingly, and both adults went a little red in the face as Alfred lightly pinched her shoulder to quiet her. A quick look to the butlers face, though, showed him struggling to keep his own chuckles at bay.

“You proved me wrong, y’know,” Rachel told him, stopping to face her friend. “Your father would be proud.” Her lips tilted a gentle smile, “Just like me.” And with that, she was gone, walking off the burnt grounds.

Kris approached her foster dad as he crouched down, opening up a long, leather case. Inside, she spied the remains of an old stethoscope, the kind doctors always used. She knew Thomas Wayne had been a doctor, but she’d never really thought about Bruce growing up with him. Was it something he used to play with as a kid, before they died?

“What now, Bruce?” She asked, and he looked up at her. “What are we going to do?”

“We’ll rebuild, Kris.” He told her earnestly, looking around. “Just the way it was, brick by brick.”

“Just the way it was, sir?” Alfred questioned, stepping closer to the pair. Bruce raised his eyebrows as he stood.

“Yeah, why?”

“Well,” they began to walk off, Kris walking between them, bundled up against the cold, “I thought this might be a good time to reaffirm the foundations.”

Bruce slowed, smiling at Alfred in realization. “The south-east wing foundations?”

Alfred nodded, his own smile splitting his face. “Exactly, sir.”

As they walked, Kris tugged on Bruce’s hand, slowing him. He stopped, looking down at the brunette standing by him. Knowing the girls temper, volume, and attitude at times, the look of fear and vulnerability on her face shocked him, and he crouched down to look her in the eyes.

“Batman’s staying, right?” She asked, voice trembling slightly. “You’re not going to let anybody else get hurt?”

Bruce smiled softly, and reached up, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere, Kristina. I meant what I said, I want to adopt you. And no, Batman isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, either.”

Kris looked down at the ground, suddenly feeling ashamed, but unable to keep her thoughts to herself. “When Ra’s Al Ghul had me on the train, I kept thinking about you, trapped in the manor. I thought you were dead, I thought I was alone again…” she trailed off, voice getting smaller, and then she looked back up at him, determination passing over her face. “But then you came back. You came back for me.”

Bruce stood, placing his arm around her shoulders. The pair faced the setting sun, the chill in the air becoming more pronounced. Alfred watched the two, beaming, as they stood side-by-side.

“I’ll always come back for you, Kris.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awwww! Up next: Kristina deals with the aftermath of Crane's betrayal and we get to see some more parenting and father/daughter bonding between Kris and Bruce. There's gonna be about five filler/non-movie chapters between this and The Dark Knight, and I'd highly advise that you not skip them, cause they end up being pretty important. Or at least, they will, if I stick to my original plan. But that would imply that I know what I'm doing, which I don't, so I can't guarantee that.


	7. CHAPTER SEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So, here's a little bit of angst and fluff for ya, Kris is reacting to the news that Crane knew of his relation to her and left her in the group home anyway, and also reacting to knowing that he's the one that hurt all those people. I hope that her reaction is accurate!  
> Also, I was looking up the trilogy timeline, and I've found quite a few people saying that it was actually as long as five years in between BB and TDK, not one year like everyone and myself previously believed. So, since having an older Kris would make it a little easier since TDK deals with some pretty dark stuff, I'll be using the literal timeline: BB premiered in 2005, and TDK premiered in 2008. So, these five chapters will take place in the three years between the movies, meaning Kris will be fifteen, nearing sixteen when TDK kicks off.  
> So, here ya go!

The silence was heavier than her own heart, if that was possible. It was tense, weighing down on herself, Bruce, and even Rachel, who was standing a few feet from him against the wall of the study, looking both sad and anxious.

Bruce’s words rang in the air, making it vibrate, like when someone finishes screaming, and you can still feel it in your bones. Her hazel eyes were burning, and her throat was closing up as she glared at the man who would be adopting her, her small fists clenching so hard, her knuckles were going white and her nails were cutting into her skin. She couldn’t feel the pain, though. No amount of physical pain could outweigh what she had just been told.

“You’re lying,” Kris managed to hiss, voice breaking slightly at the end. Tears threatened to spill, and she forced them down, not wanting to cry in front of the adults, “Jonathan wouldn’t do that, he wouldn’t lie to me, he’s my friend!”

“I’m sorry, Kris.” Bruce told her softly, making sure to keep his distance. He knew approaching her and attempting to hug or comfort her would set the girl off even further. “He told Batman and the police that he managed to confirm you were his niece

Tears were coming now, full force, and there was little she could do to stop them. They began to pour out of her eyes, streaking her cheeks, and her throat was getting tighter as her chest began to heave. Sniffling, she reached up and wiped them away roughly, unintentionally raking her thumbnail down her cheek. A sharp sting came from the cut as her salty tears leaked into the torn skin.

“Those- those people, the ones he- he- he gassed, wh- why d-did he-he do tha-at?” She managed to stutter through her thick sobs, and Rachels stepped closer, but Kris flinched away. She didn’t want to be touched right now, she didn’t want to be _sad_ right now; she wanted to be _angry_ , she wanted to _scream_.

“We don’t know, Kris.” The older woman told her softly, retracting her hand.

“H-how do you know it was h-him?” Kris asked, her eyes wide with something near desperation. “M-maybe y-you just have the wrong guy, and maybe he didn’t actually know he was my uncle, and maybe he didn’t leave me in that place on p-purpose-“ she could barely get the words out, just saying it out loud made her cry even harder. Finally, Bruce stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.

She struggled, shoving his arms away, but he only wound them back around her and held her close. The twelve-year-old began to cry harder, her chest heaving with angry, broken sobs as she shouted at the two adults in the room.

“You’re lying!” She shrieked against Bruce’s shoulder, as the man held her firmly, but gently, in his arms, “You’re liars! He wouldn’t do that! He would have told me!” She started crying harder, and she jerked against her guardian’s arms again, “ _He would’ve told me!”_ It came out as an angry scream, and Rachel reached a hand up to cover her mouth, eyes shining with tears as she watched.

Bruce didn’t say anything. He sat there, holding, and he let her cry. He let her shout, scream, and she even pulled back and slapped him a few times, but he didn’t say anything to her. Just held her, and let her continue until finally, she seemed to exhaust herself. Her sobs began to die down, and the man pulled her further against his chest, rocking her slightly as he hummed _Hey, Jude_ quietly under his breath. The only sound in the office was the soft _tick, tick, tick_ of the grandfather clock against the wall, Kris’s dying sobs and hiccups, and Bruce’s humming.

After what felt like forever, Kris pulled back slightly, staring up at him with red, tear-filled eyes.

“He knew. I told him all the bad things that happened, and he left me there anyway.” She buried her head in his shoulder, hiccupping again, “He left me there. He left me.”

“I know, Kris. I know.” Her foster father whispered softly, still rocking her. “It’s ok, you can cry. Just let it out, it’s ok.”

“I hate him.” Her voice thick but muffled against his shoulder as he felt her tears leak through his button-up shirt. “I hate him, Bruce, I hate him.”

“I know.” He assured her, shushing her quietly before he continued to hum.

Finally, her breathing slowed, and her grip got more and more loose on Bruce’s neck until finally, it was clear she was asleep. She was still hiccupping slightly, but she looked much more peaceful. Pulling away, Bruce looked at Rachel and gestured to the door with his head before standing up and holding her against his chest bridal style.

His best friend followed him as he walked over to Kris’s room, just down the hall. It was at the very south edge of the penthouse, looking out at the city. He’d brought her with him to see the penthouse with Alfred and had told her she could pick whatever room she wanted. She’d wandered for a little bit, but upon finding the room with large windows that faced the city’s sky line and showed her a view of the bustling bridges below her, she’d firmly instructed her new guardian that she wanted this room, and she also wanted to be involved in the design.

It was pale blue walls with dark brown, polished wooden furniture. A double bed sat in the center of the room, with a seafoam green comforter and pillows with a blush colored afghan and pink throw pillows to match. A hanging chair, just like the one from her room at the manor, hung in the corner. He’d ensured that large, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were installed right next to it, and Kris was in the early stages of picking out the type of books she wanted there. A large desk was pushed up against the wall with the large window, facing the view beneath her. A MacBook sat charging on top it, having just been used. Somewhere in the room, he knew she had hidden the journal he’d gotten her and placed on her bed for her to find a few days earlier.

Rachel pulled back the covers, the setting sun lighting up a dark brown dresser on the opposite wall as the sun blazed indirectly from where it was setting outside. Bruce was grateful they were so high up, it meant the shouting and the sounds of traffic was too faint to wake the girl up from her slumber. Placing her softly on the mattress, he slipped her shoes and jacket off, leaving her in her tank top and jeans, before pulling the covers back over her and turning on the small nightlight on the opposite side of the bed before motioning Rachel out of the room.

Once back in his study, Rachel shut the door behind her as they entered. Bruce was already unbuttoning his sleeves, rolling them up to his elbows.

“So, have you spoken to Crane?” She asked, folding her arms. Bruce looked back at her, eyebrows raised.

“Are you asking if _I’ve_ spoken to him, or if Batman’s spoken to him?”

“Either. Or both.” She shook her head, as if attempting to clear out the confusion of the statement. “Bruce, my point is, has he mentioned Kristina?”

Her best friend nodded, sighing as he sat in his desk chair. “Batman paid a visit to Arkham the night after he was admitted there. He was still recovering from being tased in the face,” he cocked a half-amused eyebrow at Rachel before continuing, “but she was almost all he asked about. Apparently, one of the guards that freed him ended up telling him about Ra’s Al Ghul’s plan to take her with him and leave Crane in the city; he wasn’t happy, he wanted to know if she was still here.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him that she had been adopted and would be allowed to speak to him only if she wanted to.” He grimaced at the memory. “It definitely wasn’t what he wanted to hear; he was furious.”

“Are you going to tell her? I don’t know if it’s a good idea for her to speak to him, Bruce.”

“And I agree with you, but the point is that right now, Kris is angry. She’s been betrayed by the first and probably only person she considered a friend and someone she could trust for a very long time. I need to make sure that she gets through this without becoming angry, or even…”

He trailed off, but the Gotham attorney knew exactly what he was going to say. “Vengeful?”

The boy she’d grown up with, and had loved at one point, looked back at her with swirling emotions in his hazel eyes. “Kris has been dealt a bad hand when it comes to family genetics, and we don’t even know anything about her father’s side yet. I’m not going to let her fall into the trap of wanting revenge, or letting her fury consume her. What kind of person does that make me? What kind of _parent_ does that make me?”

A smile split across Rachel’s face, lighting it up with joy, and Bruce looked over at her in confusion. “What?”

“You just called yourself a parent.”

_One week later…_

Kris was pulled from her warm, dark slumber by a large hand on her shoulder, shaking her gently awake. “Kris; Kris, wake up.”

“What?” She mumbled groggily, her eyes cracking open. She was met with a dark room, pale green curtains closed over black windows, the only light coming from the night light on the other side of her bed, and the alarm clock on her nightstand that told it was 6:03 a.m.

“Get up, meet me by the elevators.” Bruce’s voice informed her firmly, and she turned around to see him standing above her, his form just barely outlined by the pale light of the city, filtering through her curtains.

“But- Bruce it’s too early!”

“I mean it, Kris, elevators in ten; wear something you’d wear to play soccer.” Was the only thing he told her before he walked out of her room. Groaning in frustration, the twelve-year-old wanted to just lay back down and fall back asleep, but she had gotten to know her new guardians pretty well, and she knew that if she wasn’t there in the time frame, Bruce would probably do something drastic, like come pull her out of bed himself.

After stumbling around and wiggling into some shorts and a tank top, she grabbed her tennis shoes and slipped them on hurriedly, seeing she only had one minute to make it to the elevators. Sprinting down the hall, she was met with Bruce, standing by the elevator and looking at his watch as she approached.

“Well, you made it, but just barely. Next time, I expect you to be several minutes early to whatever time stamp I give you, Kris.”

“Next time?” She wondered out loud, confused. What was going on?

“Yes, next time. Now, grab that water bottle and let’s go.”

He took her to the shipyard, where they’d set up their makeshift Bat Cave, (Bruce still wasn’t amused that she called it that). He didn’t say anything, simply responding to her questions with that shit-eating smirk he always had whenever he was planning something. Finally, once they were in the training section that was set up down there, he turned to her.

“Alright, Kris. Here’s what’s going to happen: from now on, every morning except for Sundays, you are going to come with me to train.”

“Really?” Kris couldn’t hide the excitement in her voice. She had been begging Bruce to let her learn how to work all the gadgets since he’d rescued her from the train that night a few weeks ago. He’d been reluctant, telling her she was too young, and he’d teach her once she was older. “Why? I thought you wanted me to wait.”

“When I say training, I don’t mean on the weapons. We’ll start with hand-to-hand, and if you do well, and show me you can handle it, then we’ll talk about weapons.”

His answer caused her to deflate slightly, but she didn’t have time to think about it. Bruce reached behind him as he spoke, tossing two white rolls of fabric towards her. Catching them, she saw they were hand-wraps.

“Unwind those, we’ll start by me showing you how to properly wrap your hands, and then we’ll start on the punching bag.”

Training with Bruce was hard, grueling, and exhausting. He had her running, doing push-ups, sit-ups, drills on the punching bag, and even sparred with her for the last few minutes. At the end of the two-hour training session, he let her off, allowing her to stretch and cool down while he finished his last hour of training. The twelve-year-old was grateful, as she was drenched in sweat, and her muscles were practically trembling with effort. By the time they were on the elevator back up to the penthouse, her stomach was practically roaring for food.

“Don’t worry,” her guardian told her with an amused smile as she leaned tiredly against the railing, “it’s just because you’re not used to it. Once we start doing it more often, your body starts to become accustomed to the effort.”

She muttered something, but was too tired to make sure it was loud enough for him to hear. Something about how nobody could get accustomed to this kind of effort, but as soon as the doors dinged open, she found herself bolting to the kitchen, where the mouth-watering scent of omelette’s and bacon could be smelt. The older man smiled in amusement at her eagerness, despite the heaviness of her limbs, and happily dished her up a plate.

And that’s how the two spent their morning. Sitting next to each other, eating Alfred’s cooking, and watching the view.

And for the first time in both of their lives, it was happy.

It was quiet.

It was peaceful.


	8. CHAPTER EIGHT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kris speaks to her uncle for what everyone hopes to be the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place about six months after Batman Begins.  
> Chapter song: DNA by Lia Marie Johnson

_August 15, 2005_

_I’m going to talk to Jonathan today._

_I had to beg Bruce, he told me no the first time, and he just seems really worried when I bring it up. Tomorrow, Bruce announces my adoption. Rachel and I weren’t sure it was such a good idea, but Bruce is talking about putting me back into regular school, (or, private school) and he said that means he’ll need to make sure everyone knows who I am._

_But when he told me that, all I could think about was telling Jonathan. I know he’s a bad guy, and I know he hurt a lot of people, including me. He still makes me angry, and at times, I really do hate him. But, and I don’t know what it is, I feel like_ I _have to be the one to tell him about my adoption. Maybe it’s because he’s my last living family member. Or at least, the last one I know about._

_I told him all the bad things that happened there. I told him about when Ms. Oscar would slap me, about how she locked me in my room without food a lot of times for punishment, about how she wouldn’t let me go outside or talk to the other kids for days, sometimes weeks. If he didn’t care about me then, why should I have to care about him now? It doesn’t seem fair._

_But, at the same time, I feel like it’s my responsibility to tell him. He’s going to be furious when he hears, no matter who tells him, and I just want it to come from me._

_I’m not sure why I feel that way, but when I figure it out, I’ll let you know._

_-Kristina_

Arkham wasn’t just intimidating _,_ it was _terrifying._

Kris was standing there, looking up at the large building. It looked more like something out of those old horror movies she and John would sneak into the group home to watch, like the castle/hideout the bad guy always stayed in. It was kind of ironic that this was the building housing one of the bad guys of her story.

Behind her, Bruce and Rachel stood shoulder to shoulder. The young lawyer had insisted on coming, something about ensuring the asylum followed all proper procedures. Kris wasn’t going to say it out loud, but she liked it when Bruce’s friend came with them, she fit in with Bruce and the twelve-year-old seamlessly.

Alfred had stayed in the car, ready to drive them away as soon as they were done. Despite it being near the end of summer, a chilly breeze seemed to brush against her every step of the way towards the front entrance, and the sky looked much more gray and bleak here than it did over in the loft.

Kris hadn’t forgotten the Narrows. She’d just forgotten how hard and desperate and angry her life had been before. It seemed like forever ago she’d first met Bruce in that alley, running from James, and now, she was saying good-bye to the person she had thought was her only friend.

As they approached the doors, they saw a man standing there, clad in a gray suit that seemed to match the atmosphere around him. His white hair was balding at the top, and his chubby, wrinkled face was shaved clean. A very small pair of glasses sat on the end of his nose, making his eyes looking almost comically wide.

He looked like a really old, weird baby.

“Mr. Wayne,” He greeted formally in a deep voice, “pleasure to meet you. And Miss Dawes, we spoke on the phone.”

Both adults greeted the man back, giving him firm handshakes, before he looked down at Kris. “And this must be young Kristina, it’s wonderful to meet you, sweetheart. I’m Dr. Jeremiah Arkham, the head of this mental institution.”

The pet name made her grind her teeth, but she forced her lips to turn up in a semi-polite smile. “Nice to meet you, too, sir.”

With that, the old man turned around, leading them deeper into the drab, gray building. The lack of color was enough to give Kris a headache; everything was just a different shade of _gray._ The only thing that wasn’t were the eye-straining white walls, shockingly bare, with the occasional certificate or strange, abstract painting mounted on it.

As they went in, they had to fill out a paper, something about not bringing weapons. She smirked at Bruce a little when he read that aloud, but a stern look from Rachel wiped it off her face quickly. Afterwards, he led them down several long, twisting hallways, rambling on about how the institution had been in his family for years. Kris kept her mouth shut, because a part of her wanted to say that if she ever inherited such a horrible place, she’d bulldoze it.

Finally, they stopped outside a door, and the twelve-year-old tuned back in as the director turned back to them, face solemn. “This is one of our visiting rooms; Crane is inside.”

Her stomach flipped, and for a second, she felt like she was going to throw up. A hand on her shoulder caused her to look behind her to see Bruce, crouching at her level. “You don’t have to do this, you know.” He told her softly, but firmly. “You say the word, we turn right back around and go back into the city. We can even go get some burgers and strawberry shakes, if you want.”

For just one, tiny millisecond, she almost agreed. She wanted to run back out to the car, drive away from this building forever, and go enjoy getting a hot burger and a non-gourmet milkshake while they watched a movie before Bruce had to leave. She loved doing normal stuff like that, and it sounded great at a time like this.

But she didn’t. Instead, the twelve-year-old turned back around, squaring her small shoulders again. “No, it’s ok. I want to do this.”

The men in short-sleeved, white coats had to search her for weapons, (something Bruce seemed to get pretty heated about, and she didn’t doubt he would be bringing up once she was out of earshot) and then handed her a black chord necklace with gray circle on the end that had a red button. 

“Wear this under your shirt, ok, Kris?” Rachel instructed her sternly, placing it under the girl’s blue shirt and pulling her hair over the chord. “We’ll be just on the other side of the mirror in there, and we can see and hear everything. But this is just in case you want to leave, just act like you’re adjusting your shirt, ok?”

“Ok.” She nodded, clenching her fists. She didn’t want Rachel to see her scared. But the older brunette gave her a forced smile, eyes swimming with anxiety, before she stood up next to Bruce. Turning away from them, she faced Dr. Arkham.

“I’m ready.”

The man started telling her about how Crane was handcuffed to the table, but she could barely hear him. All she could do was stare at the gray, steel door in front of her, practically able to _smell_ Jonathan on the other side. Finally, the old man stopped talking, and swung the door open.

The room was white, scary white. The walls made her head hurt, just like the other ones in the asylum, and her black converse squeaked against the gray and white tiles as she walked into the room. The room was, indeed, surrounded by mirrors, but she knew the ones to her right was the room that the adults were sitting in. Bruce had originally demanded to go in with her, but with some convincing, had agreed she could go in alone, as long as he could watch the entire time.

There was a single, plastic table sitting in the center of the room. It was the only thing that wasn’t white or gray; it was black, and obviously old, judging from the large chips of paint that had come off to reveal a light brown base underneath it. Two chairs were on either side of it, one on her side, and on the other, sat Jonathan.

He looked awful. Large, dark circles hung under his eyes, and the originally blue iris’s looked colder, almost like ice, and were horribly bloodshot. He had always been pale, but now his skin looked almost translucent, his face skeletal. His brown hair, the same shade as hers, was still growing out, and looked like a bird’s nest on top of his head.

He looked just like an old scarecrow.

At the sound of the door shutting, she saw him twitch, even though his gaze remained on the table. Taking a deep breath, she walked forward, her steps almost too loud in the deafening silence of the room. Finally, she was able to get into the chair without too much awkward maneuvering, seeing as she hadn’t hit her growth spurt yet.

“You haven’t grown too much, yet.”

His voice startled her, causing her to jump. She sat still, watching as his eyes turned towards her own.

“That’s ok, though. You still have time, your mother and I were 4’11” until we hit high school.”

“You lied to me.”

The words were biting, harsh, and it felt so strange and wrong to be directing her anger at him, the one person who had treated her with anything even close to the kindness children deserved. Jonathan didn’t flinch, though, simply raising his eyebrows.

“I didn’t, actually. I just didn’t tell you the truth.” 

“Yeah, so you could lie to me.”

“No, so I could _protect_ you.” Jonathan crooned, sitting forward. “Kristina, you are my only family. I would _never_ let anyone hurt you. When I heard that Ra’s Al Ghul tried to take you away from me, I-“ he stopped, cutting himself off as he started to shake in fury. After several seconds, he seemed to calm down as Kris watched him, her stomach tumbling fear as he composed himself. “I only want what’s best for you, Kris. That’s what my sister, your mother, would have wanted.”

“How would I know?” She shot back, now feeling angry. “I never met her!”

“I was going to change the world with her, Kristina.” He said softly, “But then, she died. When I met you, I knew you were the one I was going to change the world with. You’re so _intelligent,_ Kris. You have the intellect many _adults_ can’t match, you are _gifted._ ” As he spoke, Jonathan’s eyes seemed to go bright, and a strange smile came over his face. Kris inadvertently pressed back against the chair she was sitting in as he continued on. “Just like me, just like your mother! Elizabeth loved her craft, she wanted to be the change in the world, and I knew you would be that way too, as soon as I met you in the courthouse that day.”

“But you left me there.” She spat, her fury returning, “And you did it on purpose, too! I told you all the bad things the Oscar’s did, and you left me there anyway!”

“I couldn’t take care of you-“

“No, you didn’t _want_ to take care of me.” The bite in her tone was almost shocking, her voice too full of vitriol for such a small girl. “You always treated me like you were different from the other adults, you kept saying they didn’t want me like you did because I was _special._ ” Her eyes stung, and as hard as she tried to keep her voice strong, it broke during her next sentence. “But you didn’t want me, just like everyone else. If I wasn’t your niece, you wouldn’t have looked at me twice.”

“You and I are _different,_ Kristina.” His tone changed slightly, and he leaned forward a bit more. “You think that you’ll be able to live a normal life? You honestly think that the other children will accept you, that _anyone_ will accept you? They won’t, Kris, and do you know why? You’re _just like me._ You’re different, and you’re _special_. No one else will love you for that, except for _me_.”

“You _can’t_ love me!” Her voice rose in pitch as she sat straight up, holding onto the sides of her chair with a grip so tight, her entire _hand_ was losing color. “You don’t even _know_ me!”

“I know you are brilliant, and smart-“

“But I’m so much more than that!” She stood now, voice shaking as it rose to a shout, the rage in her veins so potent, it felt like fire was seeping up through her skin. “I’m not just smart like you; I like sports, and I _like_ playing with other kids, even if some of them don’t like me back! I like helping people, and I like writing! You need me, but _I don’t need you!”_

As soon as the words left her lips, Jonathan was speechless. He was staring at her, looking furious, and if she didn’t know him better, she’d say he almost looked hurt. Tears were running down her face now, and she turned, walking straight for the door, knowing that she had about five seconds before Rachel and Bruce shut the whole visit down. But as she neared the large, steel escape, she remembered why she was there. Turning around, she glared at her uncle.

“Bruce Wayne is adopting me; the papers will be signed tomorrow. He cares about me for who I am, every part of me, even the parts that are like you.” And with that, she grabbed the handle, heaving the door open with all her preteen strength, and storming out into the hallway.

Within seconds, the adults were around her again. Bruce was _furious,_ and it almost looked like steam was about start, but before she could ask him why, he had grabbed her hand. “We’re leaving, Kris, right now.”

She didn’t have the strength to question why; it was like the room had sucked up all her strength when she’d stepped through the doorway. The fury had evaporated, and in its place, was a shocking amount of numbness. All of the hurt, confusion, anger, and fear of the previous six months was gone, and she wasn’t sure if she missed it, or preferred the black hole now sitting in her chest.

She recognized Rachel, pulling her out of the asylum, as Bruce yelled at Dr. Arkham in the background. She couldn’t tell what he was saying, it all sounded so far away. Blood was rushing in her ears, and she could feel exhaustion beginning to creep up on her. Her head ached subtly, and her limbs were getting heavier with every movement.

Eventually, they were back in the car, Rachel sitting up front with Alfred while Bruce sat with Kris in the back. He still wouldn’t tell her why he was upset, but she could tell by the set jaw and tense eyes that he was practically fuming. She didn’t have the energy to ask why, though. She just sat back, watching the world fly by as they drove back over the bridge. Turning to her new adoptive parent, she could only muster up the effort and energy for one question.

“Can we go get those burgers and shakes now?”

Bruce turned back towards the young girl, looking startled. He hadn’t expected her to speak after what had just happened. Kris had a tendency to shut down after showing too much emotion for too long; it seemed like a coping mechanism, she just kind of drew into herself. He recovered, though, and meeting eyes with Rachel told him what he had been thinking: she was talking to him instead of drawing in because she felt safe.

He made her feel safe.

Smiling gently, he reached an arm around her shoulders and gave them a small squeeze, nodding. “Yeah, we can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it! Next chapter will be a lot longer and a lot more serious, and even a little darker. It'll take place a year from this one, so I'll see you guys then!


	9. CHAPTER NINE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, hello there! I'm sorry, I know it's been a beat since I've been back here, but I really hope this chapter makes up for it! I wrote it and then re-wrote it like seven times, and this was quite honestly the best final draft. I hope I kept everyone in character! So, this chapter is a little dark at times, and I've included not only LOTS of hints towards Kristina's biological father, but I also threw in some Easter Eggs ;) let me know in the comments if you like the idea or not! Thank you all so much for your kudo's and you comments and support, I really appreciate them!   
> And on with the story!

“Alright, Wayne, serve it up!”

Her hair was pulled back tightly, but some pieces had fallen out and were now plastered to her forehead with sweat. The gym’s AC unit was going full blast, but she was still insanely hot. Her harsh breathing slowed just long enough for her to line up her serve, ball held low at her hip, right hand ready. Slight bend in the knees, up the ball goes, jump off, follow-through…

_BAM!_

Kris’s hand spiked the volleyball hard, sending it sailing over the net. Several members of the crowd whooped loudly, but she couldn’t focus, only able to watch the other team returned it. The white ball bounced back and forth, carrying high over the net for almost a full two minutes before one of her teammates at the front had clearly had enough, and set it up. One of the tallest girls on their team ran forward, feet raising off the ground as she pounded the heel of her hand against the ball, sending it straight into the gym floor on the other side.

Right as the ball hit the glossy wood finish, the buzzer sounded, ending the game. Elation filled Kris, and she yelled out happily with the rest of her team, the girls all rushing to the center of the floor as they congratulated Maria on her spike that earned them the game. Gotham Royals winning twenty-five to twenty-four over West Gotham Wildcats, and it was a hard-earned victory; she’d been doing nothing but practice, training, and homework for the last two weeks.

It had been three years since that fateful event in Gotham. Ra’s Al Ghul was dead, Jonathan was locked away at Arkham with no chance of escape or release in the near future. Kris had been officially adopted just under two years ago, and she, Bruce, and Alfred were still living in the penthouse, waiting for Wayne Manor to finish being rebuilt. Kris was now fifteen, and a sophomore at East Gotham Private School. And things were actually going very well.

So, Kris should have known that one hell of a storm was on the horizon.

It started that Monday, the week after the game. Volleyball season was winding to a close, and so was first term. That meant quarterly finals were coming up, not that they were particularly hard for her, but she enjoyed her 4.0 GPA and wanted to keep it, as well as her top spot in her science and math courses.

That Monday, she was in seventh period, which was U.S. History. Her chair was located in the middle row, right next to the window, which meant she rarely had to deal with the annoying kids that liked to sit in the back of the classroom and lob spitballs up front. While the teacher normally intervened, there were several that couldn’t be very well stopped.

Nick Ramirez was more than a pest, he was downright infuriating. She’d known him since first starting at the academy back when she was twelve, and back then, he hadn’t been anything close to bad. Barely her height, dark hair with olive skin, wide brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. Kris would even go so far as to call him a friend in those times. But, like most boys, he started to grow upon reaching thirteen. Now approaching sixteen, he was over six feet, played JV baseball, and made it his mission to make Kristina Wayne’s life a living hell. Luckily, this past year he’d been very busy with some family matters, meaning he wasn’t in school too much, but it would appear her break couldn’t last too long.

And that’s exactly what started the whole ordeal.

The first piece of paper didn’t hit her, it landed near her hand. She merely ignored it, still scribbling down notes for their exam that Friday as Mr. Logue continued his teaching of WWII. Her pencil scratched against her notebook, mind zeroed in, when the second piece hit her in the arm, twice. She paused, sighing softly in irritation, before moving her pencil to pointedly brush the papers off her desk and onto the ground, turning to glare at Nick and his annoying friends as she did it. The boys all laughed quietly, but she turned around, still attempting to ignore them and turning her ears back towards the teacher.

“And with the rising threat of the Nazi’s, the United States decided it was time for a new idea, something they could use for all possible soldiers, should the test work…”

Paper hit her arm and hand again, multiple pieces. Her muscles began to tense, and she shook them off, now shooting a much harsher glower towards the boys before turning around again, determined to ignore them.

“When they found the soldier they wanted to use it on, most were shocked…”

A piece on her shoulder.

“…as the young man was quite sickly and a known asthmatic…”

Another two pieces in her hair.

“…but Mr. Stark stood by his decision, as did his team…”

Her eye suddenly stung and she jumped in surprise, bringing a hand up towards it. A small ball of paper fell into her palm from where it had been shot into the corner of her eye, and she felt it begin to water immediately. Her anger and frustration at the incomplete notes in front of her grew, and she whirled around, grabbing a handful of the small papers and lobbing them back towards the boys.

“Miss Wayne!”

Mr. Logue’s voice interrupted her, and her head whipped back around to see the old, graying man watching her with narrowed brown eyes.

“Is my class so boring that you find yourself in need of a physical outlet, Miss Wayne?”

“No, they were throwing paper at me! I couldn’t concentrate.” She protested, jabbing a thumb at the boys who were now sitting diligently in their chairs, looking to be the picture of innocence. Mr. Logue shook his head, looking annoyed.

“Mr. Ramirez is a fine student, Miss Wayne, and if you cannot stop distracting these young men, I’m afraid you’ll have to be removed to the principal’s office.”

His complete disregard at her complaints sent her blood straight into a boil, but heaven only knew how upset Bruce would be if she got sent to the office, so she kept to herself, taking a deep breath through her nose. Shifting, she began taking notes again, ignoring the boy’s eyes in her back.

“Now, as I was saying, Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes…”

The low shuffle of footsteps sounded behind her, and the there was the distinct sound of someone sliding into the desk behind hers. No one usually sat there since it was directly under the AC unit, and Gotham was currently in the middle of an early cold front. But as she sat there, still taking notes, something prodded her in the back.

The feeling made her jump a little, but upon seeing Nick behind her, she rolled her eyes and faced forward again, struggling to keep her temper at bay.

He poked her in the back again, this time right next to her bra strap. Her grip on her pencil tightened, and she shifted forward, trying to ignore the annoying, quiet laughing that was coming from Nick’s crew from their spot in the back.

Then, she didn’t feel it anymore. His finger didn’t poke at her back again, and she relaxed slightly; there was only five minutes left of class, if he would just leave her alone until then she could go home for the day. The minute hand ticked closer and closer, and she had almost completely relaxed when it happened.

She felt the back of her bra, right near the clasp, pull back so fast she couldn’t turn around in time. It snapped forward, stinging her skin and making her jump in surprise and pain. A hiss flew past her lips, and she couldn’t hold it in anymore. Whirling around, she glared at Nick, who was looking delighted at her response to his antics.

“Will you stop?” She whispered ferociously, but Mr. Logue wasn’t that far away, and this time, his voice was much harder.

“Miss Wayne!”

She turned around, eyes wide, to see the teacher now glowering in their direction, hands on his hips.

“I believe I already warned you about your behavior-“

“But, Mr. Logue, he snapped my bra!”

“Well, then you should have been the mature adult and ignored it. Honestly, Miss Wayne, do you think this kind of reaction will fly in real life?” The old man sighed, pinching his nose, then strode over to his desk and scribbled something on a small notepad, tearing it off and holding it out.

“To the office, Miss, now.”

Kristina’s heart dropped, and she stared at the teacher in shock, mouth open. “But, sir-!”

“I said _now,_ Wayne. You interrupted my class, and this is the consequence.”

Her mouth snapped shut, and blood started to rush in her ears. Standing, she aggressively shoved her things into her bag and stomped over to the teacher, snatching the paper out of his hand and smirking a little in satisfaction when the edge gave him a papercut.

Ignoring the gaze of the rest of the class, she trudged into the hallway, slamming the door behind her as hard as she could. It would probably get her in more trouble, but she didn’t care. She was so _angry,_ who the hell did either of those men think they were? Wasn’t Mr. Logue supposed to protect her, wasn’t that his job?

She was just nearing the top of the stairs when an annoying, familiar voice grated on her ears. “Hey, Wayne!”

Kris stopped, breathing out an irritated breath through her nose, before turning to see Nick jogging towards her, still wearing a shit-eating grin on his face as he stopped a few feet away.

“What do you want, Ramirez? I’ve gotta get to the principal’s office.”

Nick shook his head, “Damn, little miss Perfect is in trouble, huh?”

“Yeah, cause of _you_ , shit head!” She shot back, now feeling her anger rise as his smile still didn’t drop. Nick shrugged, sliding closer.

“Well, I mean, it’s like Mr. Logue said. You should probably just ignore me. It’s not like I undid your bra, or anything.”

“You shouldn’t be touching me regardless.” She growled, and Nick whooped lowly.

“Wow, look at you, using such big words.” He taunted, and the brunette turned, now thoroughly fed up. She just wanted to get to the office before she got in trouble, or else she’d receive a truancy, and then Bruce would really kill her.

But the strap on her messenger bag suddenly tugged harshly at her shoulder, causing her to turn, and saw Nick was attempting to rip the bag from her grasp.

“Hey!” She cried out, grabbing onto it. “Give that back! What are you doing?”

“Kristina Wayne thinks she’s _so smart,_ ” Nick mocked, yanking hard on the strap again, causing the two to twist in a semi-circle, “but you’re not. Truth is, you’re just some charity case Bruce picked up off the street. You act like none of us _peasants_ are worth your time, like you’re _better_ than us, when really, Bruce Wayne just needed some kid to make himself look better.”

His words kept hitting her like a punch to the gut, and her anger began to rise. Higher and higher, her skin grew hotter, her heart was thundering, blood was rushing through her ears, she just wanted to _hit him…_

“So maybe you should just go back out on the street, since that’s where your mom probably had you.” He sneered. “I’ll bet she was a whore, too, I bet she doesn’t even know who your real dad is.”

At the mention of her mother, it happened. Her vision went _red_ , and she suddenly felt like she wasn’t in control anymore. She was _enraged_ , and all she could think about was hurting Nick Ramirez, making him cry for saying such awful things to her, make _him_ feel small for going after her. With a growl, her grip tightened on the strap.

“ _Don’t talk about my mother!”_ She snarled ferociously, and use the tautness in the strap to spring forward, slamming into him. A sense of satisfaction rose in her upon her shoulder meeting his chest, and he reeled backwards, the breath leaving his body with a loud _oof!_ but he kept going, and a look of terror and panic crossed his face as he suddenly tipped further, going over the railing and falling down the stairs.

Kris watched as his body cracked the marble stairs, his grunts and screams of pain and surprise seeming to be directed just towards her. She watched, heart still pounding and blood thundering through her body as he finally hit the ground, his head smacking the linoleum with an audible _crack!_

And then he stilled.

She stood there for another thirty seconds or so, her heart finally slowing, when she realized what had just happened. Horror and panic filled her, and her fingers tightened on her bag as she stared down the steps, seeing blood beginning to leak onto the floor. It suddenly felt hard to breathe, and her eyes were wide, staring at Nick’s barely moving form in alarm.

_What did I just do?_

The car ride home was frighteningly quiet.

Maybe it was because of how contrasted the silence was to the previous events; Nick’s parents showing up before Bruce, screaming at Kris, the ambulance arriving and rushing the young boy off to the ER. The paramedics on the scene had assured the adults that the teen was still breathing and still had a heartbeat, but they were genuinely concerned about a traumatic brain injury. Kris watched them in shock, unable to speak or even defend herself. Her eyes had zeroed in on the small puddle of blood, glaring at her from the swirling gray and white floor, and a horrific realization came to her.

_I did that._

 _She_ had hurt Nick, she may have caused him permanent damage. What was going to happen? What if Nick died? Would she be arrested? Did this make her a terrible person? Of course it did, she _hurt_ someone, she nearly killed him.

_Yeah, but it was an accident, and if he hadn’t been bothering you, none of this would have happened!_

The little voice in the back of her head seemed to take on a comforting tone, but she pushed it away. She didn’t want to be comforted or have her actions excused right then, she just wanted to go home.

When Bruce finally arrived, Kris wanted to run into his arms, but she didn’t. In shame, she hung back, head lowered, as the principal explained everything to him. She heard his footsteps coming towards her, but kept her eyes on the floor, watching his shiny shoes and suit pants come into view. With a low sigh, her father crouched in front of her. Only then did she raise her eyes to meet his, tears still streaming down her face. She couldn’t read his expression, but he held out his hand towards her, and spoke softly.

“Come on, Kris. Alfred’s here with the car.”

And that was where they sat, on the way back to the penthouse. Bruce had called Rachel and asked her to meet them there, but Kris hadn’t been paying too much attention. She merely stared out the window, eyes glazing past the scenery. She couldn’t feel much other than fear and exhaustion; she really wanted a nap.

Brue didn’t start yelling at her when they arrived in the penthouse; he merely asked her to go to her room. It was only around five o’clock, but the thought of her bed made her grateful. Wordlessly, she obeyed, too ashamed to meet his eyes as she dragged her bag behind her. Once in her room, she numbly pulled off her uniform and dragged on an old t-shirt and sweatpants. Crawling into bed, she laid there, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars she’d put on the ceiling about two years back. It was still too light to watch them glow, but she could still make out their outlines.

She wasn’t sure how long she laid there, but finally, she drifted off into a dark, dreamless sleep, desperate for peace.

**GENERAL P.O.V**

Bruce and Rachel both stood in the study. The young ADA was flipping through some of the details that Jim Gordon had just faxed to Bruce, wanting him to see the charges himself before anything got started. Nick Ramirez would live with no permanent brain damage, but he’d be laid up in the hospital for a week on recovery, and would probably suffer through some headaches for the rest of his life. He also ended up needing fifteen stiches to close up the gash in the back of his head.

But that wasn’t what had the vigilante concerned.

Kris was asleep in her room; she’d fallen asleep almost directly after going in there a few hours ago. It wasn’t surprising, the young teen still had a tendency to reach emotional burn out faster than most. The pediatrician had told him it wasn’t anything to worry about, but he was beginning to think it may be time to take her to a new doctor, maybe one that specialized in things like this.

“Good Lord…” Rachel murmured, closing the file. “I-Are you sure this was Kris? That another kid wasn’t there and she got caught with the heat?”

Bruce shook his head, watching the world outside his window with narrowed eyes. “No, she admitted to everything. You should have seen her, Rach, she…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “She’s a wreck, she thought she killed him.”

“Well, then she needs to know that she didn’t.” His best friend told him firmly, setting down the file and starting for the door. Bruce jumped up, gently grabbing her arm and pulling her back.

“Wait, wait, stop. She’s sleeping, ok, it’s been a long day and they’re talking about expelling her, so I don’t want to interrupt her right now.”

“Bruce, this isn’t something you can just sleep off, this isn’t something you can just _ignore-_ “

“I realize that, Rachel! But what do I say to her, huh? How do I explain to her the gravity of this situation? They’re teenagers, the world isn’t exactly making much sense to them past senior year!”

“This isn’t just punching a bully, Bruce, she _pushed him down the stairs._ What if he had _died?_ ” It wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed his mind, but Rachel’s words still gave him pause, and she continued. “I mean, they could have attempted to charge her as an adult, they probably would have locked her up in Arkham, given her family history!”

“That _won’t happen.”_ Bruce whipped around, voice dark as he glared at Rachel. “She’s not going to Arkham; I’ll find her a psychiatrist, someone private to talk to, someone to help her. She is _not_ going there!”

His voice had inadvertently risen to a shout, and once he finished, he sighed, running a hand over his face. The two adults hesitated, listening carefully for the sound of feet walking down the hallway towards them, but it was silent. Bruce turned back to Rachel, continuing.

“Look, Kris is already struggling as it is, ok? I can’t send her to Arkham, Rachel, I don’t want her to get the message that she’s doomed to end up there, just like Crane. I want her to have hope, I want her to understand that she doesn’t have to end up there if she doesn’t want to.”

“Mental illness doesn’t work like that, Bruce, and you _know_ that. If Kris is struggling, if she is legitimately ill, then she needs doctors, medication, _something._ You can’t just expect her to snap out of it!”

The dark knight didn’t answer, instead walking over to his desk and opening the first drawer, pulling out a slip of paper. “I found a child psychiatrist; one that specializes in anger issues with children. She’s a private practice, and I think it’ll be good for Kris to talk to someone.”

Rachel chewed on her lip, looking over the paper he handed her. It looked official, and the psychiatrist herself, Dr. Macy Levinson, looked like she came with great recommendations. But she couldn’t help but wonder if Bruce was being naïve, maybe even intentionally ignorant. Kris had a problem, one that needed to be addressed before it got herself or someone else in trouble. She loved that little girl, and thought the absolute world of her. Which was why she was concerned about her; she didn’t want Kristina hurting herself or someone else over something that could be prevented. Finally, she looked back up at her best friend from childhood, and nodded. 

“Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Yes, ok. You’re her guardian, Bruce, you’re her father. So, I’m trusting you to make the right decisions concerning her health, but…” she trailed off, then sighed. “I really think we need to look back into finding her birth father.”

“Rach, we’ve been through this, it’s a dead end. I’ve searched every data base, and I can’t find anything-“

“Well, maybe he hasn’t been arrested. Or maybe he changed his name or died or any number of things. The point is, we know about her mother’s side. Crane’s mental illness wasn’t something that was ever present in his sister, so I have a hard time believing that Kris inherited it from there. What if this came from her father? What if finding him could give us answers on how to take care of her?”

Bruce’s jaw ticked, a sure-fire sign he was thinking through her words _very_ carefully, and then nodded, rubbing his face. “You’re right. I’ll look into it again, for Kristina’s sake.”

The young attorney’s face dropped into one of relief, and she took a deep breath, smiling in gratitude and moving to hug her friend. They stayed like that for a minute, before Rachel caught sight of the clock on the wall, eyes going wide.

“Oh, no, I’m late. I told Harvey I’d meet him for dinner at six.”

Bruce tried to smother the prick of annoyance and envy that came up at the mention of the man’s name; Rachel and Harvey had been dating for about a year, something that still bothered him to no end. Much to his amusement, Kris also expressed a dislike for the man, but he also felt some guilt because he knew she only did so because she saw how much he disliked him. Maybe that was something else they could talk about.

As the brunette left, Bruce stood by the elevators, watching as the numbers descended. He stayed there for a minute, pondering, thinking, wondering what was happening. It had been one hell of a day, and he still had to get ready for tonight.

Speaking of which, the sun was descending; he should really start preparing. As he gathered his things, he looked towards Kris’s door, wondering if the teen was still asleep. At first, he didn’t want to risk waking her, but parental concern won out, and he slinked up to the door, carefully opening it.

Kris was, indeed, still asleep. She was curled up in a tight ball, blankets piled on top of her. As he looked closer, he saw dried tear tracks on her cheeks, and she shuddered occasionally, proving she hadn’t stopped crying not too long ago. With as much stealth as he possessed, Bruce slipped into the room, moving to pull the blankets higher onto her figure. Sitting beside her figure, he placed a hand on her shoulder comfortingly, and began to hum.

_Hey, Jude_ was and probably always would be their song; it always seemed to cheer the teen up no matter the circumstance. And this time was no different. As soon as the first notes left his throat, her face relaxed, little by little, until she looked much more peaceful, breathing even and deep. He hummed for a little bit longer before finally standing and smoothing the quilt over her body. With a final once-over, he left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“How is she, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked him, weathered face pinched tight with worry. Bruce shook his head, but pointed at the door.

“She’s fast asleep, if you don’t mind, Alfred, I’d like to keep her that way. Could you prepare a plate for her and just have it ready to be warmed up, if you don’t mind? I want her to rest before she has to wake up and face it all over again.”

The older man nodded, wishing the family patriarch a safe night before he was gone, going down the elevator.

And neither knew that Kris was now laying awake in her bed, staring at the now glowing stars, face blank. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. It was like there was no water left in her body, and she could feel a headache coming on from the dehydration. She sat like that for almost an hour, unable to fall back asleep, when her alarm clock beeped at her. Eight o’clock, the time she normally went to sleep at. It was also the time that she lied down on her side, able to see the window, but keeping her face hidden. She followed the routine, watching through the glass pane carefully, when it finally happened.

The dark figure landed just outside her room on a ledge, pointed ears distinct. Batman sat there for several minutes, watching her carefully. She couldn’t tell if he knew she was awake or not, but he never mentioned it to her, so she always continued to fake it. Finally, after the five minutes were up, he left, just like he did every night.

And even though Kris was terrified, staring up at her ceiling, wondering what would become of her the next day and the day after that, she took comfort in that one small thing. That small thing of Bruce, swinging by at the same time every night, to check on her. To make sure she was safe, and warm. She may have screwed up, but maybe this was his way of telling her hadn’t given up on her.

Maybe, even after what she did, he did still want to be her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all for now, folks! I'll hopefully be seeing y'all again real soon, I've got such big ideas for TDK! This was my last chapter before it started, and I know I promised one more, but it feels like I'm dragging it out and purposefully going slow, and I hate that. Especially with my own writing. I really hope you are all doing well and staying safe, see you guys next time!


	10. CHAPTER TEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure you comment your thoughts on this chapter, as I'm very eager to know what you think ;)

_Six months later…_

It was her phone that woke her.

The blaring ringing pulled Kris from her deep sleep, startling her awake. She gasped quietly, beginning to sit up, when she began to catch her bearings and remembered where she was. In her room, in the penthouse. The alarm clock read 2 a.m., and with a jolt, she realized who was most likely on the phone.

Grabbing the ringing, vibrating device, a glance at the screen confirmed her suspicion. It read _Unknown Caller ID,_ but she knew better. She’d been getting these calls ever night, between midnight and 3 a.m. like clockwork, and it had all started after one particular incident.

Taking a deep breath, the chocolate-haired teen pressed the answer button and brought it to her ear, holding onto air she had just breathed in. The other end of the phone was near silent, but in the complete and utter absence of sound in her room, she could hear the light breathing on the other end. She knew exactly who was calling her.

“Jonathan?” There was no answer, but it was the first time she’d confronted him since she started getting the calls after he snuck out of Arkham, and she swore she heard the breathing on the other end catch. She licked her lips, sitting up all the way, fingers clutching the phone with such force, her knuckles were going white.

“I know that’s you, Jonathan.” She paused, partly because she wondered if he would respond, but also because she was unsure of what to say next. She decided to be direct. “Why do you keep calling? Why don’t you talk to me?”

Silence.

“Where did you find my number? My dad will be furious, as soon as I tell him what’s been going on, he’ll take this phone away and get a new one, a much harder one for you to track down.” Still, there was no answer, and she felt her temper flare up. She struggled to keep it under control, desperately recalling Dr. Levinson’s voice when it came to controlling her anger.

_1, 2, 3, 4…_

“Damn it, Jonathan,” she cursed, voice dropping into a barely controlled snarl, “I’m not one of your fucking patients! I’m your _family,_ you can’t play these stupid fear tactic games with me-!” She caught herself, managing to force in a calming breath before her voice rose too loud. Pausing, she turned back towards the door, waiting for Alfred’s footsteps, but there was nothing. She turned back around, biting her thumbnail as the breathing on the other end continued.

“Don’t call me again.” She instructed firmly, a tremor hiding under her tone, “Or I’ll tell Bruce everything, and then you’ll never be able to find me.” With that, she slammed her finger on the _End Call_ button and sat there, counting quietly, and breathing deeply; desperately attempting to control her emotions.

_It’s important to realize, whenever you get upset, you need to stop and remember: I am in control of my emotions. I decide what happens when someone angers me; I am always in control._

“I am always in control…” she muttered to herself, staring at the bookshelf across from her bed. Somewhere around that time, she laid back in bed, and sometime after that, drifted back off to sleep.

It wouldn’t be until morning that she saw the text that came from the number, the very last one that she’d see from him, since one week later, her father would have her biological uncle locked up again for drugging involuntary Gotham citizens and attempting to run incredibly fucked-up psychological tests on them. The text was only one sentence.

_Ask Azalea Murphy about Elizabeth Crane._

_Six days later…_

Alfred Pennyworth looked up from where he was pouring syrup over a stack of blueberry pancakes, hearing soft footsteps coming towards him. Sure enough, a young girl, no older than fourteen or fifteen, entered the kitchen. Clad in a traditional private school uniform of a plaid skirt, stockings, white button down shirt and a blazer, her dark hair ran down her back, past her waist, held out of her face by a single braid done across the crown of her head.

She was a beautiful young girl, and sharp as a whip. Of course, he didn’t expect anything less from a teen that willingly spent her free time solving puzzles, riddles, and fiddling with a Rubix cube.

But Kristina Wayne had a kind heart, too.

“Morning, Alfred.” Kris greeted softly, kissing the older man on the cheek and hopping onto a stool with a small scowl. Jonathan had told her some odd years ago that she would start growing by high school, but she was still only five foot. Then again, her maternal uncle was a pathological liar, so maybe she was holding out with false hope.

“Good morning, Miss Kristina,” he returned warmly, setting the plate in front of her. “A steaming batch of my famous pancakes, and an excellent way to start off the week.”

Kris giggled as she brought a bite to her mouth, looking around. “Looks like Bruce didn’t think so.”

The butler rolled his eyes, turning back around. “You know your father, young miss. Sleeps all day, that one, but I’m afraid that won’t be an option any longer.” He shook his head, “Going to get himself into a bloody mess of trouble with Wayne Enterprises if he keeps falling asleep in board meetings.”

“Who’s falling asleep?” A new voice inquired innocently, and both turned to see the man in question, fixing the sleeves to his dress shirt as he walked in the room. Kris smirked playfully.

“How come you’re always getting on me about falling asleep in math class but _you’re_ allowed to sleep through million dollar business deals?” She interrogated, and Bruce pinched her arm lightly, yanking his hand back before she could slap at it.

“Cause I’m an adult, and that means I’m always lacking sleep. Plus, I already have a job. You, on the other hand young lady, need to get through this semester so you can move onto your junior year and finish up your college classes.” He returned, nodding at the bulging bookbag that was sitting by the door to the living room. Kris rolled her eyes.

“But my classes are so _boring,_ Bruce, I already know the answers!”

“Well, then getting a perfect score on your SAT’s in a few years should be a walk in the park.” He shot back playfully, then pecked her forehead. “I’m heading out to work, you need a ride?”

“Oh, um, no thanks.” She denied quickly, hopping off her stool, “Alyssa is coming to pick me up, and I’m probably getting a ride back with her, too, so don’t worry about it.” Snatching up her bag, she shot a quick farewell over her shoulder and raced out the door to the elevators.

As she left, Bruce looked over to Alfred, eyebrows raised. “So, I know Rachel warned me about the teenage years. But you have to admit, that was a little weird.”

“Do you really think you are the most fitting person to pass judgement for being _strange_ , Master Bruce?”

“Wow.”

The sounds of mid-morning Gotham echoed around her, a sound she was extremely familiar with. But Kris wasn’t paying attention to those. No, she had to focus, she needed answers.

She stood outside the bank, clutching the pieces of paper in her hands. It held information, information that she wasn’t really allowed to access. Bruce would eventually find out she’d been snooping using his computer, which is why she had to be quick. Chewing her lip, she looked back down at the papers. At the top read, _Murphy, Azalea Selene._ Underneath was a long list of information. Date of birth, marriage and divorce information, offspring, spouses, and even past addresses. But only one line of data concerned Kris, because it was technically the only one she could legally follow up on.

_Current Employment: Gotham City Bank, Loan Officer_

With a deep breath, Kris silently recited the list of questions she had in her head as she hurried up the steps, her school shoes clacking lightly. It wouldn’t be too long until the academy called Bruce to let him know she wasn’t in second period; she only had an hour to make it back, or her ass was toast.

Inside, it was surprisingly quiet. She was guessing ten o’clock in the morning wasn’t the busiest time for a bank, seeing as most people were at work. A small line was formed at a few teller booths, but the rest were empty. Hazel eyes roamed around until she finally realized that she had no idea who she was looking for. Despite all the information, she didn’t have a current picture of the woman in question.

“Do you need help, miss?”

Kris jumped, feeling her muscles tense until she realized it was simply the security guard, watching her in confusion. Stuffing the papers into her bag, the teen nodded, thinking quickly.

“Um, yes. I’m looking for Azalea Murphy, I’m told she’s a loan officer here?”

“Yeah, Mrs. Murphy is in today,” he confirmed, still looking suspicious “but why do you need to see her? Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, that’s why I need to talk to her.” She raised the pitch in her voice to a level of slight panic. “I was interviewing her on financial careers in Gotham the other day, and I left the entire report on her desk. If I don’t get it turned in by ten, it’ll be an automatic fail.” She widened her eyes, allowing her chin to quiver. “Please, sir, I’ll be quick, I promise!”

“Ok, ok, please don’t cry.” The security guard quickly shut down, then turned to point at an all glass office sitting in the middle. “That’s her office, looks like she’s on a call right now. Just go in, get your paper, and try to be quiet, yeah?”

“Yes, thank you, thank you so much, sir!” She told him sincerely, smiling in relief and walking towards her. Once her back was too him, she rolled her eyes.

_Not the best cover story, but it’ll do, I guess._

As she neared the office, she caught the tail end of the conversation.

“Yes, yes, I understand. Not to worry, sir, the money is well-guarded. No one would be stupid enough to rob this bank.” The woman paused, then turned to the door and made eye contact with Kris.

The phone receiver actually slipped from her hand as the woman’s lips parted in shock, and both parties jumped when it clacked loudly on the desk. Scrambling to pick it up, she stuttered out, “Yes, yes, sir, understood. I’ll make sure to double-check, I swear.” As she was hanging up, Kris got a good look at Azalea Murphy.

She was in her late thirties, maybe a few years younger. Her hair, which was a much lighter shade of brown than Kristina’s own and filled with highlights, was pulled back into a high bun. Her blue eyes were bare, but a pair of glasses hung on a chain around her neck. She was dressed in a navy-blue blazer and skirt, with a black blouse underneath. There wasn’t much that was remarkable about her, but Kris could barely contain her anxiety and excitement when she saw the woman’s face.

She knew that look. She’d seen it on Jonathan’s face a million times.

Recognition.

“Hi,” she started hesitantly, hands clutching the straps of her backpack. “I, uh, need to speak to Azalea Murphy?”

“Yes,” Azalea agreed, seeming to catch her bearings. “Yes, that’s me. Um, why don’t you have a seat?”

Heart beating like a drum, Kris sat in the chair in front of the woman’s desk, still fiddling with the straps of her bag as she quietly set it by her feet. Unsure of how to even begin, she decided to simply cut right to the chase. “You look like you recognize me.”

“Do I?” The older woman asked, her voice a little higher than it had been before. “Well, that can’t be right, I don’t think we’ve ever met-“

“Did you know Elizabeth Crane?”

The question pushed its way past her lips before she could stop it, but the teen couldn’t help it. This woman knew something, she could _feel_ it.

At her outburst, the color seemed to drain from Azalea’s face, and she seemed to flounder for a second before she could speak. And when she did, one word came out.

“Kristina?”

Kris nodded, now feeling her hands shake. “Yeah. So, you knew her, right? You knew my mother before she died.”

“How-“ Azalea shook her head, looking confused, “How on earth did you find me?”

The teen played with her fingers, trying not to look guilty. “It’s not important. What’s important is I have some questions I really need to ask you.”

“Did Jonathan tell you about me?”

Kris startled, raising her eyes to stare at the woman in shock. “Wait, you knew Jonathan, too?”

Biting her lip, Azalea leaned down and opened a drawer in her desk. Shuffling around for a few seconds, she came back with several small slips of paper in her hand. No, not paper. Pictures. Hesitantly, she held them out to the younger girl across from her.

It was of Jonathan; Kristina couldn’t help but be shocked of how he looked. He was younger, ganglier, maybe around her age. On his back was a girl that looked just like him, and with a start, Kris realized she was looking at her mother. It was true, they did look alike. Except for the fact that Elizabeth had Jonathan’s blue eyes and was a little taller than Kris, they could have been twins.

The pair was laughing, and the next few pictures were not only of them, but some held a teenage Azalea in them as well. They were always laughing or smiling, and the last picture showed Azalea and Elizabeth standing with their arms around each other, making silly faces at the camera.

“We were best friends.” The woman’s voice pulled her back to reality, and Kristina raised her eyes to see Azalea fiddling with her hands, eyes wet. “She was amazing, your mother. So kind, and so smart, too. Jonathan always tried to act like he was the brains of the pair, but,” she scoffed, “Beth could’ve outsmarted him any day.”

“You don’t like him.” It wasn’t a question, just a statement. Azalea paused, then shook her head.

“Your uncle wasn’t always like, well, how he is now, Kristina. But that doesn’t mean he was ever really good to begin with. He was always narcissistic, and controlling. He used to get so _jealous_ of anyone Beth spent her time with, including me. If she wasn’t with him 24/7, he was upset.” Her eyes grew even more teary, and she shook her head. “And when your mother got pregnant with you, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, it made him _crazy._ He even drove her to the abortion clinic once, tried to force her inside.” A stormy look passed over her face. “She was only nineteen at the time, I had to come pick her up. She wouldn’t even speak to him until she got about halfway through her second trimester.”

“Do you have more pictures?” Kris asked, not meaning to interrupt, but she couldn’t help it. This was the first time she had something, something that was her mother’s. It made her chest tight, but in a good way. Tight, but warm, like she imagined it would feel to have the woman beside her. Regrettably, Azalea shook her head, chuckling tearfully.

“No, Beth _hated_ having her picture taken. I never understood why, she was such a beauty.” Her eyes raised to Kris. “Just like you. You look just like her, you know, it’s almost scary. Except for your eyes, of course.”

At the mention of her single, distinguishing feature, the teen realized something. She looked at the woman, fingers tightening around the pictures.

“Wait, you said you knew my mother during the pregnancy.” She paused, almost afraid to ask. “Did you know my father?”

It was like asking the question had flipped a switch. Azalea’s face went from tearfully happy to white as a sheet, horror dawning on her face. She stuttered, then shook her head.

“You know what, I shouldn’t have done this. You need to be in school. Come on-“ the woman stood, beginning to round the desk, but Kris stood too, eyes burning in desperation.

“Wait, no, please!” She resisted, “Please! My uncle won’t tell me anything, and this is the first time someone-!“ her voice was rising, and she could feel that flame in her chest starting up. Stopping mid-sentence, she sighed and closed her eyes.

_1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7…_

“I’m begging you.” She continued, voice a littler softer, opening the hazel orbs. “My adoptive father can’t find anything, and Jonathan won’t talk about him either, so please.” She stared up at the woman, jaw set and determined.

_“Please.”_

Azalea stared at her, eyes wide, for several seconds. Finally, she exhaled defeatedly. “Ok,” she said softly, walking back to sit behind her desk, “I can’t tell you everything, but I’ll tell you what I know.” Pausing, she looked out the windows across from them, eyebrows drawn, mouth set into a frown. “Jonathan and I never agreed on much, but neither of us liked him.” She started, looking regretful. “There was just something… _off._ I couldn’t be too sure. Maybe it was the way he spoke, or the way he looked at Beth, like she was _his_ or something.” She looked at the girl sadly, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, Kristina. But he wasn’t a good man, and I don’t know where he is today, but I’m guessing he still isn’t.”

The words should have hurt, but for some reason, they didn’t. Maybe it was because Kris had put so much focus into finding information about her mother that she hadn’t particularly given much thought to the man. Of course, he hadn’t been there at the birth, so she was guessing he was either dead by that point, or just a plain dead beat.

She wasn’t sure which she preferred.

“He was so _manipulative_ ,” Azalea continued, and her face grew distracted, as if recalling old memories. “And Beth was so smitten; he could have gotten her to do anything he asked, and he did. He had this way of looking at you, and when he did, it was like you could _feel_ him picking you apart, learning everything about you before you even had to say anything.” Her face tightened ever so slightly in anger. “Beth always did whatever he wanted, she was desperate to please him. She’d just graduated high school when they first got together, and he was already twenty-two, if I remember correctly. And,” her face darkened, “she always excused everything he did; telling us he didn’t have a good life growing up, that his father was an abusive drunk, and his mother was simply never around. She claims he was never physically abusive to _her_ , but,” she shook her head, “sometimes, I wondered.” She blinked, as if coming back to reality. “I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear this.”

“No,” Kris cut her off quietly, “no, I do.”

The teen wasn’t sure how she felt. She knew the man wasn’t good, but she hadn’t really imagined him like that. A part of her was angry; her mother sounded wonderful, and she’d had two abusive shit heads following her around and making life miserable for her. But another part was sad. Sad she couldn’t have tried to make her mother’s life better, sad that her mother had to die before it could happen.

Sad that her mother hadn’t truly had someone who loved her.

Taking a deep breath, she looked back at the woman. “Why wasn’t he there when I was born?”

“He left.” Azalea told her regretfully. “Honestly, I don’t think he even knows you exist. They got into a huge argument one night, and he kicked her out of the house. I came by to get her; she was a wreck, calling him, begging to come back, swearing that she would change. But he ignored her for weeks. Finally, she found out she was having you, but when she went to find him and tell him, he was already long gone.” She shrugged, “I haven’t seen or heard from him since.”

Kris felt her hands tighten around the strap of her bag, which she was clutching to keep calm. “So, he never even-?”

_BANG! BANG! BANG!_

“EVERYBODY, HANDS IN THE AIR!”

The sharp, rapid pops of gunfire sent Kris straight to the ground. She slipped off the chair and reflexively crouched behind it, eyes widening in horror as she saw what was happening.

Three men, dressed in clown masks and dark clothes, were rushing into the bank, brandishing guns as the other employees and customers screamed and dropped to the ground in panic. She couldn’t tell what kind, but before she could look too closely, one of the men with a smiling clown mask busted into the office.

“Let’s go, ladies, let’s go! Out! Out!” He barked loudly, brandishing his gun. Azalea, who had shrieked and ducked behind her desk, grabbed hold of Kris as they were dragged out, holding her close.

“We’ll be ok, it’s ok.” She tried to sooth, but honestly, she looked more scared than Kristina. As they were both dragged to the main area, the girl felt her bag thump against her leg, and she remembered.

_My phone!_

If the silent alarm didn’t bring the police, sending her father a text sure would. They had a code word she was supposed to use in dangerous situations, one that meant he needed to call the police and track her location immediately, like a panic button.

“Get on the ground! Put your hands together!” She grunted as the man shoved them both, sending them to the floor. Azalea grunted in pain and shimmied off to the side, pressing her back against the teller booth. Kris followed, fighting to stay calm as she ran through the scenarios in her mind.

_Don’t panic, don’t panic. Remember what Bruce taught you: stay calm and find a way to reach him. Don’t run at them, they’ll panic and shoot. If theres multiple, try to appear non-threatening so they pay less attention to you, that gives you the chance to grab your phone._

Her hands trembled slightly as she watched the man begin tying people; one grabbed the bank teller and yanked her, screaming and kicking, over the counter. She could see at the other end of the line of hostages, another clown with a sad face was also tying their hands.

She didn’t have much time.

Slowly, she slid her hand off her lap, right next to the entrance of her bag. As stealthily as she was able, she reached into her bag, keeping her eyes on the two men as they worked their way towards her. She felt her fingers brush against several textbooks, her folders, and a homework assignment before they curled around the small, heavy block.

_There it is._

As she slid it out, a hand clamped down on her other wrist. The movement made her jump, but her head whipped to the side to see Azalea staring at her with panicked eyes, shaking her head slightly.

_Don’t,_ she mouthed to the teen, but Kris ignored her. Biting her lip, she felt herself panic as the clowns moved closer. She clicked on messages, fingers still shaking a little as she typed the keys.

_B-U-R-N-_

Before she could finish, the phone was snatched from her hands. She turned to see Azalea, holding the phone and glaring at her. Her mouth opened, but before she could admonish the young girl, a shout startled them both.

“Hey, she’s got a phone!”

The words had just barely left happy face’s mouth when a shot went off, and Kris jumped when something hot sprayed over her shoulder and neck. A weight fell on her lap, and she looked down, hear stopping.

They’d shot Azalea through the neck.

Her breathing picked, blood rushing in her ears, as she realized what had just happened. “No, no,” she spoke, voice rising as she grabbed the woman and laid her on the ground. “No, Azalea! Azalea!” She shook the older woman’s shoulders, now shouting. “Azalea!”

But it was no use. She was long gone, eyes glossy and staring off into the distance.

“You idiot!” Happy Face shouted furiously, “The boss said not to shoot anyone!”

Kris didn’t see Sad Face’s reaction, but as she saw his hand move to grab her phone, which had dropped to the ground when Azalea was shot, she felt it. That familiar fury, rising in her, burning her skin and making her heart rate rise, fingers tightening on the fabric of Azalea’s blazer. What had this woman done? Nothing, absolutely nothing. She showed up to work her job and provide for herself and her family, and now she was _dead._

And now, Kris had no more answers about her real mother and father.

A shout of anger left her lips, and before she could stop herself, she lunged at sad face, grabbing onto his gun and trying to yank it from him. She actually landed a pretty solid kick to his groin, which made him gasp, but when she managed to get one hand off of his weapon, he shoved her back, harder than she’d been expecting.

Her shoes slipped on the shiny, sleek floor from the force of the push, and she felt herself fall backwards. As she went, she felt the back of her head smack hard against something.

And then it was dark.

**GENERAL P.O.V**

The other hostages watched, some still screaming, as the young teen’s head smacked against the edge of the booth. Her body thumped heavily against the floor, completely still. Not too far away, the older woman’s body, the bank employee, was now surrounded by her own blood. Happy Face cursed.

“Fuck, now that’s two! Make sure the kids not dead, we don’t need that kind of heat!” He ordered furiously, now moving faster to tie up the rest of the hostage’s hands since his partner had just created more work for them.

Sad Face leaned down, moving to pull the young girl’s body off to the side, when he paused. Tilting his head to the side, he reached up and pushed some long, brown hair away from the teens face. He stared at her for a beat, simply watching. Finally, he looked back at the bleeding bank employee’s body, then back at the girl. His fingers found their way to her neck, finding the steady thrum of a pulse. Still alive, just unconscious.

Now moving faster, Sad Face grabbed her bag and began rifling through it, dumping everything onto the floor. Textbooks, loose papers covered in notes, and some assignments fell to the floor, but it was what fell out last that caught his attention.

A school ID.

_East Gotham Private School_

_Wayne, Kristina Elizabeth_

_Sophomore_

Sad Face paused, then read over the name again. _Kristina Elizabeth._

“Hey! Let’s go, tie the kids hands together in case she wakes up, we gotta move!”

Coming back to reality, Sad Face grabbed the girl’s hands and wound them together, not bothering to place a grenade between them. Stuffing the ID into his pocket, he then jumped up and ran to finish the last of the hostages.

Bruce busted through the doors of the hospital, stopping at the reception desk. “Bruce Wayne, here to see my daughter. She was a hostage in the bank robbery, they said she’d be here?”

Seeing the panicked look on the man’s face, the nurse nodded and beckoned him to follow her, leading him through the doors and into the emergency room. Bruce’s heart thumped against his chest, eyes darting over the people inside, desperately searching for a familiar head of thick, brown hair. Finally, they stopped outside of a room, and he nearly collapsed.

“Kris!”

The teen looked up from where she was talking to a nurse, and her adoptive father rushed forward, wrapping her in a hug. She returned it, breathing in deeply. It was ok, she was safe, Bruce was here.

She was safe.  
“Bruce, I- I’m sorry, I went to text you when they first came in and-“ she tried to come up with an explanation, but the billionaire shook his head.

“We’ll talk later, ok?” He told her, then pulled her tightly into a hug again. “I’m so glad you’re ok, Kris, when Detective Gordon called me, I’d assumed the worst.”

The girl relaxed into his embrace again, enjoying the feeling of security that came with being in a room with him. It was ok, it was over. She’d get some medication for her head, and then they’d go home, where she was sure a lecture would be waiting for her. But funnily enough, she didn’t care.

She also wouldn’t care when she went through her bag in a few hours and realized her ID had been taken. Reasoning that it probably fell out and got lost somewhere, she shrugged it off.

But Kristina had no idea the domino that had just been knocked over.

She had no idea what was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why so serious?


	11. CHAPTER ELEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here's another chapter for you, with a look into the inner mind of Kristina's father. Idk how many people have made the connection by now, but if you have, you'll know that I've got big plans for their meeting (which may or may not be soon).

“How’s the homework, Kris?”

The teen in question looked up from her math textbook as her father walked into the room, reaching for the coffee. She was perched at the kitchen counter as she finished her math homework rather begrudgingly. Her friends were all currently celebrating the end of the volleyball season, but due to her grounding, she wouldn’t be attending any social gatherings for at least another month.

“Fine.” She answered shortly, then looked up at him again as she scribbled down another answer. “I’ll probably be done by around six,” She noted, tone a little lighter, “Which would leave me plenty of time to-“

“To get some reading in before you spend time with your dad; yep, that sounds wonderful.” Bruce cut her off brightly, immediately shutting down her attempt to persuade him into letting her leave. He turned, _Worlds Best Dad_ mug in his hand. “Which is great, because I made some dinner reservations for us.”

Kris scowled, fighting the eyeroll that was coming up. She knew this was coming; she should’ve gotten him _Worlds Strictest Parent_ on a mug for Father’s Day last year instead.

Ever since her little escapade at the bank, and upon finding out Jonathan had been contacting her, she’d been grounded. And not just come-straight-home-on-weekdays kind of grounding, either. He took her phone, telling her he already had a new one with a new number on the way, and her laptop. She was forbidden from any social outings for a month, dependent upon her behavior, and she couldn’t leave the penthouse without some kind of adult supervision. Which meant he dropped her off at school every morning and picked her up, as well. What’s worse was that he seemed to take pleasure in hugging her good-bye and loudly calling her ‘Krissy’ in front of all the other students since he knew how much she hated that nickname.

Her dad was evil when it came to punishments.

“Where?” She finally muttered in defeat, and he smiled triumphantly.

“Just that new place I bought out, Republique.”

Kris stopped writing, raising her hazel eyes to her fathers. “That’s definitely a more upscale place. Kind of weird to take your kid there.”

“Well, it’s been a while since you and I have had a night out, and I’ve invited a date.”

Now she groaned. If there was one aspect she could not stand about her father’s cover lifestyle, it was the women. Rachel was about the only one she could stand, every other female that came in was either threatened by her or never took her seriously. They all seemed to think they were there for the long run, so it was funny when Bruce never called them again.

Was that mean? Probably.

“Oh, come on, you’ll like her.” Bruce tried to defend, but they both knew he was kidding himself. She hated all of his dates.

“Which model or heiress is it this time?” She muttered, erasing a mistake and aggressively swiping the shavings off her papers. “Or did you finally break down and ask out a stripper?”

“Kristina.” He admonished sharply, his tone advising her to shut up. She did but refused to knock the glare off her face before he spoke again.

“Her name is Natasha, she’s the Prima Ballerina for the Russian ballet. Since they’re in town, I thought I’d show her around, and she’s eager to meet you.” He explained, and it was then that Kris looked up again, an eyebrow raising.

“Wait, wasn’t Rachel just telling me that Harvey would be taking her out to this super exclusive restaurant tonight?” She wondered aloud. “It would be awfully weird if that just so happened to be Republique.”

Bruce’s face dropped to an innocent, neutral expression, and he shrugged. “I don’t know, whoever Rachel chooses to date is her business.”

But Kris saw right through him, and grinned, laughter bubbling up. “So, we’re crashing Rachel’s date with ‘Mr. White Knight’! Why did you say so?” She cheered.

“No,” Bruce started, trying to redeem himself, “I’m simply taking my daughter and my date to a nice restaurant for some bonding time, that’s it.”

She snorted, twirling a long strand of hair around her finger. “Yeah, right.” But she dropped it, mischievous smirk still planted on her face as the pair sat in silence for a few moments.

“Would I get in trouble if I knocked a drink onto his lap?”

“Kristina!”

A sleek black car rolled up to the curb of a restaurant, and two valets stepped forward to open them. Bruce Wayne and a gorgeous blonde in a tight-fitting black dress stepped out, the billionaire walking around to hold out his arm to the woman. Out of the backseat came a beautiful teenage girl, dressed in a forest green dress that reached her knees in a flowing, tulle fabric. She smiled and thanked the valet, stepping forward and taking her father’s other arm.

The car ride hadn’t been fun for Kris, but it also hadn’t been nearly as bad as she’d been expecting. Despite being a ballerina, Natasha was pretty cool, and she was asking genuine questions to Kris about her hobbies and school. Learning about the rigorous training that the dancer went through also gave them something to talk about, much to her father’s delight.

Once they were inside, though, the teens eyes were roaming over the heads, looking for a particular brunette. As they walked in, she caught the person in question, and bounded over as her father went to call her back.

“Rachel!” She greeted eagerly, running up to hug the woman. Rachel turned to see the teen and smiled back, standing to wrap her in a warm hug. She’d missed the younger girl, having not been over to see her in a few weeks. She’d been so busy with their current case she’d only ever had time to call her.

“Oh, look at you, Kris!” Rachel complimented, pulling back to brush a strand of brown hair over the girl’s shoulder. “You look gorgeous tonight, sweetheart.”

And she meant it. Kristina had already grown up so much since Rachel had first met her just over three years ago. The girl was now quickly approaching womanhood, and Rachel knew without a doubt that it was giving her father anxiety. Kris was beautiful, and only getting more so as the days went on. Poor Bruce would be chasing boys away with a stick. 

“Thanks.” The girl accepted brightly, straightening out her dress. Rachel put a hand on her shoulder and gestured to the blonde man sitting across from her, who was watching the interaction with some shock.

“Kris, this is my boyfriend, Harvey Dent. Harvey, this is Kristina Wayne.”

Harvey stood, sticking out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Kristina.” He smiled charmingly, but Kris only smiled tightly back.

“Just Kris.” She answered in a fake-polite tone, moving to shake his hand.

“Rachel!” Bruce’s voice made Kris smirk rather deviously, and she stepped out of the way as her father approached, watching him greet Rachel. “Fancy that.”

“Yeah, Bruce.” Rachel returned, smiling tightly at her old friend. “Fancy that.”

Bruce and Natasha stopped at the table, Rachel and Harvey had both sat back down at that point, and Bruce placed his hand on his daughters shoulder. “Natasha, Rachel,” He introduced his friend and date to each other, “Rachel, Natasha.”

“Natasha,” Rachel repeated, eyes narrowing in realization, “Are you the…”

“The Prima Ballerina of the Moscow ballet.” Bruce confirmed proudly, “Yes, she is.”

“Harvey’s taking me next week.” The brunette told them, and Bruce turned to the blonde man.

“So you’re into ballet?”

Kris couldn’t stop the snicker that escaped her but swallowed another upon Rachel’s stern glance in her direction.

“Bruce,” Rachel seemed to announce in a rather warning tone, “This is Harvey Dent.”

“The famous Bruce Wayne.” Harvey greeted as the men shook hands, “Rachel’s told me everything about you.”

“Well, hopefully not everything.”

Kris and Rachel made eye contact at that, both seeming to mentally agree that comment was a little too cocky.

“So, lets push a couple of tables together.” Bruce suggested, and Kris nodded eagerly. Harvey frowned, looking around.

“I’m not sure they’ll let us-“

“Well, they should.” Bruce cut him off. “I own the place.”

Once the group was seated together and talking, Kris couldn’t help but tense when Natasha brought up the kind of childhood Gotham brought.

“Who would want to raise children in a city like this?” The Russian asked, and Bruce shrugged, placing a hand on his daughters shoulder.

“Kris and I were raised here, and she’s one of the best kids I know.”

The teen raised an eyebrow at her dad, being mentally reminded of how she was currently grounded for skipping school and then getting caught up in a bank robbery as Harvey spoke up.

“Is Wayne Manor even in the city limits?” He asked, the question clearly a dig at the pair, but Bruce came back on him before Kris could.

“The Palasades? Yeah, they are. You know, as our new DA, you should really learn where your jurisdiction ends.”

Kris smirked into her water as Bruce winked at her, both attempting not to laugh at Harvey’s annoyed expression as Natasha continued.

“I mean a city that idolizes a masked vigilante.”

“Gotham is proud of one of its citizens for standing up for what’s right.” Harvey argued, and Kris couldn’t help but blink in surprise. Of all the things Harvey seemed to be, supporter of the Batman hadn’t originally been on that list.

“No, Gotham needs more hero’s like you.” Natasha admonished, “Elected officials. Not a man who thinks he is above the law.”

“Well, if the law makers and enforcers did their jobs, maybe he wouldn’t be needed.” Kris argued, unable to hold her tongue as she remembered her childhood. The amount of times cops and politicians had turned a blind eye to her suffering and the suffering of so many others came to the forefront of her mind, and she felt Bruce put his hand on her back comfortingly.

“I mean, she has a point.” Bruce nodded at Natasha and Kris was reminded that he had to look like a doubting man. “Who appointed the Batman?”

“We did.” Harvey disagreed, looking somber. “When we let scum take over our city.”

“This a _democracy,_ Harvey-“

“When an enemy was at the gates, the Romans would suspend democracy and appoint one man to protect the city.” Harvey interrupted, “And it wasn’t considered an honor, it was considered a public service.”

“Harvey, the last man they appointed was named Cesar and he never gave up his power.” Rachel reminded him playfully, and Harvey shrugged.

“Ok, fine. You either die a hero, or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.” The DA admitted, but there was still a fire in his brown eyes. “Look, whoever the Batman is, he doesn’t want to do this forever. Why would he? He’s looking for someone to take up his mantle.”

Kris’s eyes went downcast to the table at those words, almost unable to look at her father. She knew what the statement did to him, how it made him feel. And the thought of her father not being Gotham’s hero anymore gave her mixed feelings. A part of her looked forward to the day that she didn’t have to worry about him being shot or beheaded or mangled or any number of things. But another part, a smaller, more childish part, didn’t want anyone but her father defending her. It didn’t trust anyone that wasn’t her father to defend her.

“Someone like you?” Natasha asked doubtfully, but the man only shrugged.

“Maybe, if I’m up to it.”

Natasha chuckled, holding a menu up over Harvey’s eyes. “What if _Harvey Dent_ is the caped crusader?”

Harvey only shook his head, looking over at Rachel. “I think if I was sneaking out every night, someone would have noticed by now.”

A scowl screwed up Kris’s face as the couple took each other’s hands, looking into the other’s eyes. The PDA was enough to make her nauseous, but her father’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Well, I’m sold, Dent. I’m going to throw you a fundraiser.”

“You are?” The teen muttered in surprise, but winced Bruce lightly kicked her under the table.

“That’s nice, Bruce, but I’m not up for re-election for three more years.” Harvey started to decline, but Bruce only shook his head.

“No, you don’t understand. One fundraiser with my pals, and you’ll never need another cent.”

The rest of the dinner seemed to go without incident, but the entire time, Kris was distracted. As they were finishing their dessert, she looked up from her piece of devils food cake to her father, frowning.

_What if Dent’s right?_

_What if he doesn’t have that much longer left?_

Just over a week later, Kris had just finished changing out of her school uniform and was heading back into the main area of the penthouse, now clad in a more comfortable jeans and t-shirt. She ran a hand through her hair, happy that she had finished all her homework in study hall that day and was free to spend some time with her father before he went out that night.

But as she descended the stairs, she saw Bruce and Alfred were facing the TV, their backs turned towards her. Neither appeared to notice her arrival as Bruce turned up the TV, the anchor man’s face somber.

“Please be warned,” He was saying, “The images are disturbing.”

It cut to a new video; this had been taken with some kind of low-end camcorder. The video was shaky and disorganized, and she could hear the camera man panting slightly, as if he was trembling and over-excited.

Finally, the lens pointed to a man tied to a chair. Kris swallowed when she realized it was another copycat; citizens who tried to impersonate her father. The man was sweating and trembling, but clearly attempting to be brave.

_“Tell them your name.”_

The voice was high-pitched, and sent chills down Kris’s spine. The voice itself sounded… _unhinged,_ like the person possessing it was barely clinging to reality. The hairs on the back of her neck seemed to stand up as the copycat responded, voice trembling.

_“Brian…Douglas.”_

 _“And are you the_ real _Batman?”_ The voice asked, giggling slightly at the end. The copycat shook his head.

_“No?”_ The voice asked mockingly, then suddenly deepened violently, almost to a guttural growl. _“Then why do you dress up like him?!”_

The man behind the camera reached forward, yanking off the faux mask. It was then Kris saw the hand was clad in a glove, dark purple and leather. She tilted her head to the side, familiarity niggling the back of her brain. Where had she seen those gloves before?

The cameraman giggled hysterically again, dangling the mask in front of the camera before throwing it off to the side. The copycat, Brian, spoke again, voice still trembling as he fought to sound braver.

_“He’s a symbol; a symbol that we don’t have to be afraid of someone like you!”_

The camera shook again as the man behind it loomed closer, his voice growing deeper and more threatening. Kris was reminded of the street dogs she was always avoiding when she still lived in the group home, his voice like the yipping barks that suddenly dropped to a threatening snarls and growls.

_“Yeah? But you do, Brian, you_ really _do.”_ He grabbed Brian’s hair, yanking his head around painfully. Kristina’s chest tightened as Brian whimpered, and the camera man shushed him mockingly, stroking his face with the back of his glove.

_“Look at me.”_ He requested quietly, the lens zooming out again as the man backed up. Brian’s eyes stayed stubbornly on the floor, and the camera lens shook. _“LOOK AT ME!”_ The man suddenly roared, and Kris jumped inadvertently.

When Brian’s eyes raised back to the camera, it swung, the scene blurring, before it landed on a face.

The face was awful, gruesome; covered in white paint and with greasy, shoulder length hair that had been tinted green. The teens eyes went straight to the red lines on either side of his mouth, painting a gruesome looking smile.

No, not lines. _Scars._

_“You see, this is how_ crazy _Batman’s made Gotham!”_ The killer-clown admonished in his high-pitched voice, the camera still shaking and moving around. _“You want order in Gotham? Then Batman must take off his mask and turn himself in. Oh, and ever day that he doesn’t, people_ will _die. Starting tonight._ ” He brought the camera closer, _“I’m a man of my word.”_ He began laughing maniacally, baring yellow teeth at the camera in something akin to a snarl, and Brian’s screams of horror joined the laughter, the two sounds making Kris’s stomach roll.

_Who the hell was that?_

Miles and miles away, in an indistinguishable warehouse down by the water, a giggling figure sat watching the news coverage on a small, decrepit TV.

Everything in the room was decrepit, actually. An old, squeaky cot was pushed into the corner, and a door that was ajar showed a moldy, dirty bathroom. The room itself was pure chaos, covered in newspaper clippings, pictures, dollar bills, and random pieces of paper. The pictures had been drawn on and scribbled on with bright red Sharpie, depicting gruesome smiles that matched his own.

Once the coverage ended, the Glasgow-scarred man stood, still giggling, as he walked over to a table in the corner. This table was also covered in chaos, but unlike the rest of the room, it only held pictures of one person. One girl, actually.

She was young; no more than fourteen or fifteen maybe. If his mind was still sane enough to remember the timeline, she had to be fifteen on the dot. With a birthday in April, most likely. She had long, dark brown hair that nearly hit her waist, and thought most of the pictures were black and white, some were colored. And those were the ones he found himself looking at the most, because in them, he could see a familiar set of hazel eyes staring back at him, right into his own.

They were all sorts of pictures; some he’d had a henchman take, others were from paparazzi, and some from security cameras. In most, she didn’t appear to notice the camera or was pointedly ignoring it and was busy doing other tasks. He found these the most intriguing, the things she was doing. She always had something in her hands; books, messing with jewelry she had on, phone, etc. In several she was fiddling with a Rubix cube, and in a colored one, he saw she had finished it. She was wearing the same outfit, which meant it had only taken her a maximum span of a few hours.

She looked exactly like her mother. He hadn’t seen or heard from Elizabeth in years, and he knew now that she was most likely dead. It didn’t sadden or disappoint him, not like it should have. She’d been a good lay and a fun project to have on him when he was younger, but she’d been too clingy. He just got bored eventually.

He wasn’t sure if knowing about Kristina before he left would have changed anything, but it certainly did now. He wasn’t sure _how_ she changed anything, exactly, but he just knew she did. It was fine, though, because he’d meet her soon enough.

It looked like he’d be adding _family reunion_ onto his current list of objectives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the fundraiser crash! Also, I'm sorry if I'm not writing Joker very well. He's actually incredibly tricky to get down on paper, cause it's hard to describe pure chaos properly. Let me know in the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> Next up: Bruce makes a pretty impulsive decision and we get a glimpse into Crane's mind concerning Kristina


End file.
